Poem
Maxine Beneba Clarke
Ricochet
baked redbrick,
in the darwin heat
dry palms whisper,
in the stifling breeze
bloke says
mate, we were sure it was fireworks
ruddy face shock-blank,
mouth set grim
yeah-nah, never thought this’d happen here ay
stunned, swatting the blowies away
young one, to the side, packs a rollie
fingers trembling,
like death’s walked this way
another:
i was in me undies
as shock settles in breathless, wide-eyed
ricochet,
off cracked motel concrete
slaughter stains,
pinot-dark on the carpet
saw him rage from room to room
(to the camera, grief-stricken, alarmed)
four dead
it was bloody roll-of-the-dice
thought we’d sorted this
back at port arthur
Get the news you need
to your inbox.
