braking by the wide verandah     a pall

of dust behind the ute     dogs slouching

towards the driver     waiting to be borne

aloft     loaded on the tray     no-one walks
to the shadow of the pub     stalking utopia

a string quartet     isaac stern on first

staring into the dado     jackie on cello

brushing at flies     with her beau (call him dan)
waiting  in the parlour     utopia this is

despite the dusty space     that swallows sound

(a plucked string     sends the pullets clucking

and scratching in the dirt     laying eggs
for the king browns to swallow     and the

taipans)     inside the ladies       lounges

the pianist (call him dan)     displays his charm

muscular crescendo     spent diminuendo
as the schubert     swells in utopia     and fades

if only the rain     flooding down

the diamentina     or the train

up from the big smoke     perfection here
is all too dry    (if musical)     and lonely

despite the van     its loaded dogs

disappearing up the road     towards

the diggers' weekly shaft     the golden
sunset as the quartet     saws the evening

into dusk    into dust     settling

on strings and sounding board     tomorrow

we paint the stump black      pure black
back of utopia     the camel lies down

with the dingo     the potbellied children

(their thinness stalks)    agog with the music

wanting nothing