Born and bred in Leongatha, Peggy enjoys all things cultural and adores travelling. She is very lucky to be able to support her penniless bohemian lifestyle by being irregularly sent overseas to teach English as a Second Language. She loves good food films, and friends.
DINGO ON THE DOORSTEP.
The blowflies buzz languidly
Through the heat of the day
On the other side of the screen.
Inside, evidence of afternoon tea:
Empty cups cluster in the old enamel sink,
Scone crumbs pile on the tablecloth.
The menfolk lean back contentedly
In this break in proceedings.
And the dingo sleeps on the doorstep.
Of seasons gone by
Confirm that all is well in this world.
The kitchen abounds in distinctive aromas:
Dried sweat and hay masked by simmering jam
(Fowlers jars await in a line).
The roast in the oven for tonight’s tea
Beef sandwiches for tomorrow.
And the dingo stirs on the doorstep.
A misbegotten cur
His lean frame a grizzled grey;
Sire kelpie, dam part heeler at least.
The native looks out through his clear yellow eyes:
No cow hides unnoticed, no command unheard.
“Best damn dog I’ve ever had.”
But the arvo is for chasing rabbits,
On the hills or in his dreams.
And the dingo twitches on the doorstep.
With no discernable signal
All know when to leave
Like birds on a powerline.
The boss organises the next day’s schedule:
“Come ’round after milking; a day’s rake and bale.
And pray for no rain.”
The missus is thanked
For her lavish hospitality.
And the dingo stretches on the doorstep.
Side by side they watch
The lads go down the driveway
In dusty utes and four-wheel drives.
They gaze over their acreage:
Hay paddocks newly slashed, plantations in the gullies.
The cows low from behind the shed.
Then the missus to her kitchen,
The boss whistles in his dog.
And the dingo bounds away from the doorstep.
Deep, our memories
Find unconditional love
Reflecting her soul