From my time in the Kimberley region in the north of Western Australia in the 90’s.
I wonder if this is like India;
they say ‘stay too long and you can never leave’.
Pindan dust in every crevice
staining my lifeblood indelibly.
Wet heat boiling the blood,
aircon the only cold comfort.
Tracks embedded in my spine
until the uncorrugated seems suspect.
Frustration with the timeless
as an excuse for no tomorrows.
The challenge of black history
Fading into right white history.
Today’s ‘answers’ perhaps tomorrow’s follies
for me, a ghetto dweller in this forever foreign land.
No, this is not like India;
I’ve been leaving since I arrived.