Moonlight stains the garden blue
Leaking off leaves like ejaculate
Bats fuck and fight in the foliage
Spraying black shit against the gate
In the distance crackers thwack
Impotent gestures after the fact
Yet the boredom seeps like a gas
Through a suburb in a city waiting
Tides ebb through the mangroves
Mosquitoes hum in the shadows
The smell of barbecued meats
Sound of wine infused chitchat
Daub these sunsets with romanticism
While in Cullen Bay they are debating
The finer points of Arnhem Land painting
Those wearing rugby jerseys and tatts
Mohawks and rat tails are waiting
They peer through cyclone fencing
Sucking back beers at the mud racing
Their question remaining unasked
Clouds gather, there is a rumble in the sky
The weather has turned, we exit the dry
Now the long wait through the build up
Spectral storms, the breaking of the rain
This frontier has a mind of its own
It will be what it will be
Leave it to the people
For this is their home
© shaun patrick green 2014
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