Poems from Australia

Here's a poem I wrote while driving through southern Australia, recently. It's possible I shouldn't do this sort of thing while jet lagged after a 15 hour flight over the Pacific. Or maybe this is my new, true calling. It's so hard to say.

Was that a Dead Wombat?

Was that a dead wombat I just passed?

He was a blobby, little guy. Should I go back? No, people will think, "Look at that weirdo posing with a dead wombat."

Someone called me a Yank this morning. They'll definitely suspect it if I go back for the wombat. But, I might not get to see another one. How far back was it?

Who wants to see pictures of a dead wombat? Melissa, Melissa definitely does. She'd tell me to go back And forget what people might think.

When will I be here again? Maybe never. Never again to see a dead wombat. I'm going back. How many kilo-meters have I gone?

There'll probably be another one. They don't seem real smart.

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