we’ve started using no through roads
we drive to the country
somehow we have the genius to find
the road with no cars
we look for mushrooms
break them apart and smell
why isn’t there a machine that says
which ones are poison?
there hasn’t been much rain
some valleys grow rocks and bare dirt
when do pine mushrooms break out?
there’s too much work, not enough weekends
drive down no through roads
look at houses we can’t afford
occasionally an absolute gem
most of the time, what were they thinking?
llama farms, B&B’s
cottages and dells, rag blankets shops
what country are living in?
if you’re rich enough
it seems like you don’t want to live in Australia
European trees and hedges
I hunger for green
wait for rain to fall
but some part of my heart belongs to dry
we drive back to Melbourne
T-bone steaks and Sunday night TV
So You Think You Can Dance?
I don’t tell her exactly, but yes we can
Maurice McNamara is a Melbourne based poet. His poetry celebrates ordinary life with a distinctive laconic flavour and iconclastic humour. This poem is taken from Maurice's collection, Half Hour Country, Small Change Press, 2009.