My Locale

At present it’s rather surreal.

The haze from yesterday,

only a little thinner,

continues to every horizon

and, we know, beyond.

The coppery sun, setting,

glows weakly through the veil.

We’re heading into fire season

with signs of a long dry.

We know that, further north,

the burning off is right

that caused this cloud.

A worse hangs over us

if we leave the grasses lush.

I live in a small town

near a large mountain

shaped like a brush turkey

or the profile of a warrior’s head.

We are surrounded by canefields, 

banana plantations, some dairy farms

and the hidden illegal crops.

The wide slow river

fills to its banks often

and sometimes floods.

In winter the cupboards 

fill up with mould.

Brown snakes every summer 

encroach on suburban paths.

There are places 

close to the mountain

where the energy is so strong

few can live there with ease.

(The mountain is full of crystals.)

At night we sit out on our verandas

watching the UFOs streak the sky.

No, we are not fond of strangers.

This area used to be

Australia’s best kept secret.

Now it’s over-populated.

Well yes, it may be true

that I haven’t told you everything.

The bottom line is: Stay away!

30 Poems in 30 Days: 18, Your city, town, locale.