The Grazier's House

The grazier's grand home was at the wrong end of the bush track.
His children had moved on to more lucrative pursuits.
The wool stockpile fell on the price guarantee,
And Australia fell off the sheep's back.

The grazier was old, and needed a beach bungalow.
Or at least his wife did.
Or perhaps she just wanted the shops,
And access to hairdressers, that coastal resort towns afford.
It was her turn.

The grazier shuffles behind his wife on auto-pilot,
The walking dead in shining RM Williams.
The grazier's property is under pine.
Generations of blood and tears lie buried beneath,
The acidifying, needle strewn soil.
And there too lies the grazier's heart.
Best he does not see what his grand home has become.

One hundred and twenty five ks to Pony Club

"Noorinbee!
She came from Noorinbee?
Don't they have Pony Club at Cann?"

"Apparently not."

"What a shame,
They had a really good gymkhana.
One hundred and twenty five k,
To come to Pony Club."

Our rural communities are dying,
Despite 'our' love for them.
Timber industry gone.
"Don't worry,
So many opportunities for Eco-tourism."
Yeh right.

Plantation companies buying up the land
Obscure our views with
Horrible horrible pine.
Empty farms.
No farm families.
Derelict houses.
"They'll bring more work."
Yeh right
Go bust.
Owe money everywhere.

We have to cut public service jobs.
No more public land managers.
One ranger to do the work of five.
No foresters, (no timber industry remember.)

Amalgamate the Shires
Worsening roads.
"Did you know it took a week before they removed that tree?
I had an extra forty k to get to work."
"Well no other bastard would cut it off,
Because they don't pay their bills,
Those contractors."

Less families.
Less kids.
Less schools.
Less teachers.
Less shops.

No Doctor!
Hospital becomes a nursing home.
"That's ok, take your sick child to Cooma,
Or Orbost."
So many choices!

Yes, she drove one hundred and twenty five k to come to Pony Club.
One way!