The Butcherbird Knows

The butcherbird knows
when we sit down to lunch,
perching on the plastic chair
to wait for someone's pity
or messy eating habits.
As the crowd thins out,
it grows brave and hops
onto the table to hunt
down globs of vegetable
curry and butter chicken.
It eats the largest bits first,
a smear of orange sauce
on its beak until it jumps
back onto the chair back,
rubbing its large, long beak
on either side of the plastic
like its sharpening a knife.
The food falls into its mouth.

The Cockatoos

Only when I hear the squawking sounds

do I notice the cockatoos in the scrub brush,

using their feet to tear loose small bits of plant

and raise them to their beaks for inspection.

The one in the middle of the group raises 

his head when I freeze on my path and I turn 

to watch them gather and chirp and browse.

The feathers raise on his crown into a crest

but he makes no sounds and avoids eye contact

as he waits to see what I am doing and I wait 

to see what they will do.

Before the Sunrise

Pre-dawn, the sky turns
golden; the water reflects
topaz tinted glass

The Beard Trim

A break in the middle of the day:
the chair yanked away from the desk
to sit in the bathroom above the drain
in the textured linoleum floor.
The razor hums and rattles faintly
in my hands as I ask for reassurances,
admit that I've never trimmed a beard.
But I slice through hairs, letting them fall,
as the pattern begins to take shape
and I have to stop because laughter
makes my hands jerk and shake.
Later, when the designs have been cut
clean, we look at the photographs
and start laughing all over again.

At the Pub

Sunday afternoon at the pub:
Australian football on the televisions,
the crack on cue balls on the pool tables,
the distinct smell of beer in plastic pitchers,
the simple stories we tell to newer friends
and old ones that have just returned.

The Promises of Thick Duvets

Two weeks ago, we wore shorts
as we gazed at the Milky Way
painted amongst the stars.
We wore sunscreen and t-shirts
and slept without blankets on our beds.
Our socks laid clean in the cupboards
and our air conditioners ran all night.

Now, we wear sweaters and jeans
as we scurry through the night,
seeking the promises of thick duvets
spread evenly on cool beds.

Cold Mornings

Just the thought of warm
feet on cold linoleum
drives me back to bed.

Amusements

I cannot name the birds
that appeared overnight
on the stiff, bitter breeze.
Their small bodies twist
and glide like fighter jets,
but they loop and spin,
stuck on an invisible
roller coaster of currents.
Dozens of them continue
the circuits for hours
with no sign of boredom,
no trace of fatigue.

Exploring Writer's Block

If I stare at the blinking black line
of the cursor in the text box
and I cannot find the exact words
or the appropriate perspective
and topic, it doesn't necessitate
an unremarkable day. Maybe
the day was filled with laughter,
games, vibrancy, productivity,
a stiff breeze on a cool day,
moments not captured on pages,
moments not quite unforgetable
but still worth a few remarks.

The Wedge-tailed Eagle

Over the grasses that crackle in the breeze,
a lone eagle soars over a large shrub.
Its mighty wings flap in measured beats,
but it does not move, muscles straining
and working so it can stay in one place.

Definition of A Perfect Day

A Perfect Day [noun]:
laughter, games, writing, baseball,
and a grand breakfast.

Movie Night

Calm, clear night at the amphitheater,
dark picnic blanket spread on the grass,
white screen adhered to the building,
good friends on their sheet next to us.
The wind carries the child-like laughter
and the thoughts that no one dares whisper
while the story continues to play out
in front of our blanket.

The Resident Mouse

A few moments after I entered the room this morning,
I heard the soft rustling that denotes the resident mouse,
hurrying to find a mostly-concealed path under counters
and tables to wherever it hides when people are there.
But the noise sounds different, more defined and plastic.
When I look into the five gallon white plastic bucket,
the mouse looks up at me-- frozen, frightened, fluffy--
in a container only filled with its own droppings.
I slowly begin to tilt the bucket, letting the mouse adjust
to the change in its center of gravity before I let go.
I don't look back as I walk away and start my routine
until the familiar scratch of small claws under the table
makes me realize I could've taken the bucket outside.

Pilbara Sunsets

Once the sun slips behind the hills at the day's end,
the sky glows a bright marmalade that slowly fades
into a light marigold with gray tones throughout.
When the atmosphere is full of zebra stripe clouds,
the formations reflect summer berry fuschias and pinks,
and the sky turns to a golden honey with lemons
like a hot tottie on a cool windy evening.

Another Farewell

Another late night barbecue--
sausages on the creaky gas grill,
empty cider and beer bottles
lining the center of the table.
The dance music and friends
remind us that this is a party,
but the lull as the crowd thins
brings out the nostalgia,
the embarrassing videos,
the memories of past farewells
and speculations about the next one.

Sounds of the Farm

Walking to the common house, 

our boots crunch and scuff 

through the gravel and rusty dirt.

The wind rattles the royal Poinciana’s

crisp leaves and floods our ears

when we turn just so, but we still hear

the butcherbirds in the branches

begin to whistle complex tunes.

The cadence of French and English

conversations and the crinkle

of sandwich wrappers draw the birds

closer, promising them an easy lunch.

The Jabirus

They stand on the dirt path between ponds,
white feathers reflecting the pre-dawn light
contrasting with rusty dirt and cobalt water
as they remain still and silent, their backs to me.
As I approach, they begin to move away,
their steps light and simple as if a coincidence,
but their dark webbed feet match my pace
They stop when path concludes with a drop,
and they seem carefree until I stray too close
and they spread their inkblot wings to fly.

I Know This Spider

Only after the car reaches 40 kilometers per hour
do I notice the spider dangling from the sideview mirror,
its legs akimbo and curled so I don't know if it's alive
until the car slows and the spider scurries up to cling
to the side of the car. I consider pulling it inside,
letting it run amok through the interior with the others
but I know this spider. I know even before the trauma,
this spider wouldn't hesitate to bite me, make me ill,
so I leave it alone, watching it flap in the wind
because I don't know what else I can do.

On the Clothesline

As I fold the damp pants over the white clothesline,
I break through the fragile beginnings of spiderwebs
stringing between the lines and over the bright pins.
When I return for the clothes now crisp with UV,
the spiders have spun more crystalline webbings
and I must destroy the connections once again,
but the spiders will remake them in the space,
never progressing but surviving and building.

From the Bucket

We slowly drift out of our plastic patio chairs
as he hauls the white bucket onto the cobblestone
to get an expert opinion on the six crabs within.
It seems impossible to fit so many crabs inside
so he reaches in, hesitates, shifts the bucket,
and reaches in once more to pull out the first crab.
It doesn't move. The blue pinchers don't snap,
the legs don't kick out in a desperate escape bid.
It remains on the pavers where it's set.
The second crab also doesn't try to defend
but its mouthparts flex slowly, minutely.
A third crab joins the first two on the stones,
none of them moving their legs or pinchers
from within the circle of pale bare toes.

Striking Water

In the quiet just after twilight, we finally hear the soft sound
that we've been hoping to hear: water flows into the toilet tank.
Our eyes alight with the prospect of using the sink, the shower,
and the flusher on the toilet without hefting bottles of fresh water
to the dry stalls and basins to do the simplest daily matters.

Jammed

When the plastic snaps over my finger,
holding it in place with increasing pressure,
my mind shoots back to how this happened
and how I can ensure I don't repeat this,
instead of focusing on stopping the pain
or seeing if my finger is even stuck.
My body moves automatically to curve
around my injury, my finger slipping free
and I curl it into my other hand for protection.
My face burns hot but my finger grows hotter
even as the pain starts fading to an ache.
I find myself weary in just a few seconds.

Little Poem of Gratitude

The beautiful thing
that makes me love Australia:
baseball has no ads.

Pelicans at Dawn

Before the sun rises over the still waters,
the faint golds begin to leech over the edge
of the world and spread like a stain
over the raven black of the night sky.
The small birds grow restless, excited;
the pelicans awaken and take to the air,
soaring silent but imposing over my head
as I go about the beginning of my day.

Autumn

The change in seasons was not marked
with the foliage changing from greens
to bright reds, crisp yellows, and oranges.
Instead, the bushes turned a yellow-celery
color or a dried and crispy oats tan shade
to mark the end of the annual rainwaters,
and the foliage remained the same green,
baring little wear for time's passage
into the months with water and air
just a touch too cool for the tiny frogs
that once lived in my toilet tank.

SuperMoon

The moon is already almost overhead
when I step outside of the house.
The orb doesn't seem much bigger
but the Burrup flare seems fainter
and the stars are lost tonight
when bathed in the bright white
lamp light of the full moon

Translocation

Sometimes, I stop in the middle of the path
and look up at the sky, a solid bright blue
or deep black with thousands of stars
and realize the proportions are all wrong:
there's too much sky and not enough land
to keep me cradled in close to the earth.
Instead, I'm noticeably small, exposed,
afraid.

Unexpected Guest

When the mouse slips out from under the foundation
and into the light spilling from the fluorescent bulb,
few of the party-goers notice its silent appearance.
But as it continues to move through the shadows
until it freezes in the direct light as though hidden,
more and more people begin to pay attention to it
and share speculations about the furry gray rodent
that has managed to avoid the black boxes of rat bait
and the painful-looking seizures that always ensue.

Millstream Kangaroos

At first, we point out every kangaroo
grazing in the bright green grasses
or standing frozen until we pass them,
but we grow complacent as the numbers
climb and kangaroos become ordinary.
Later, when we round a bend in the dirt trail
emerging from the tree covered land
into a prairie of celery-colored grains,
I look up from the rocks and bushes
to see a kangaroo use its powerful legs
to bound across the horizon, out of sight,
and I remember just how unique
and absurd this moment really is.

Dust Cloud

When we round the bend in the unsealed road,
we spot a four-wheel drive truck approaching,
so we scramble to rotate the hand cranks
on the manual windows before the red dust
trailing behind the truck converges on us.
We can only wait in the warm, stale air
of the interior until the scenery clears
with the suddenness of camera snapping
into focus before it takes a perfect picture.
Then we reach for the hand cranks again
to let the fresh air flow back into the car
and onto our faces until another truck
passes us further up the beaten dirt track.

The White Backside

We round the bend on the trail,

watching our shoes on the uneven

dirt path covered with large rocks.

The eucalyptus trees rustles to our left 

and we have just a moment to spot

the bright white backside of a bull

its horns curling out from either side

of its bulk as it runs through the grove

with surprising speed and nervousness

for an animal so much larger than we.