I have more time commuting now, so I am going to try to post a new poem every Wednesday for as long as I can.
This one was inspired by overhearing a person’s origin story and their claim to be “more Australian than most Indigenous People”. I don’t know how anyone could say that.
Suffice to say, I had a reaction to the arrogance, ignorance, and racism. And I decided to channel my thoughts/feelings into a new poem.
Country
Your boots are covered in the fine blood red dust of this (your) land
As if such a superficial covering could confirm your claim (demand).
You cannoy see what should be there
You cannot smell the change of seasons in the air.
You do not feel rhythm in your veins
Or the need to dance again.
And you will keep saying it is yours
One hundred times more.
You have no bones in that dust
You do not carry it’s blood.
Angele Toomey Poetry 
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