Melaleuca

Number 19: January 2011 Table of Contents Aussie Tales Bush Fire Blonde Never, Never Twenty Whacks Catholic Conundra Save Only as the Words of a Title Unremembered. Nocturne: Quatrain Death Wrenches Slyly Lampropholis delicata Mike Berger Mike Berger Mike Berger Mike Berger Benjamin Dodds L. S. Fisher L. S. Fisher Helen Koukoutsis Helen Koukoutsis 03 04 05 06 07 08 10 11 12 Editor: Phillip A. Ellis

All works are copyright by their respective creators, 2010; the arrangement of this collection is copyright by Phillip A. Ellis, 2010. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Australia License <http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.5/au/>.

Aussie Tales Charlie was wavin a tall yarn. The tourists were soaking it up. He was warning them of the dangers lurking in the Never Never. A Tasmanian devil is just a koala when they are compared to the desert bilby. This ferocious animal attacks without provocation. It's vicious. Its teeth make short work of tough roo hide boots. Itll chew off your leg and wont spit out the bones. There in the sand lurks a giant python. The desert python gets twenty feet long. They hide in the sand and snatch you. They can eat and man whole. The aboriginal people call it "karranda" that means one really big snake. The little snakes are the worst of all. One drop of venom and you drop dead on the spot. Stay away from the billabongs where are those snakes come to drink. Run like hell if you see a blue kangaroo That roo has a thing for stompin city blokes. His massive feet pounds you to pulp. They Have to pick up the pieces in a plastic bag. Charlie stories were funny but we had to temper them some. Too many tourists left the pub and got a plane ticket home. Mike Berger

Bush Fire Blonde All of the ladies in the pub were fair game except for Sal. She was a beaut with an infectious laugh. Looking but never touching, her boyfriend was a mountain of a man. Big as the whole of South Australia; he'd need Sydney Harbour to take a bath. One dong from that massive fist would land you into the middle of next week. Even after half a dozen pints, you knew better than to mess with Sal. Into the pub marched a bushfire blonde; hair as red as a scarlet rose. He swaggered as he walked. Immediately he took to Sal. He pinched her on the fanny. Sal giggled but her boyfriend wasn't amused. The fight was on. I never saw fist moves so fast; the big bloke hit the floor. Staggering up the bushfire blonde finished him off. That little bloke took Sal on his lap; they laughed as they drank a pint. It took six of us to pull that giant from the floor. We propped him up in the corner while the bloke romanced Sal. Mike Berger

Never, Never The outback is a lonesome place; millions of miles vanish into nothing. My only respite was a few days spent along the Murchison River. Completing the census of wild spring flowers, my job was over. Heading into town to meet a mate, forced to leave before the mulga madness set in. I took a two-hour bath; trimmed my beard, and set off to meet Johnson. We hit a local pub to drink a pint and catch up. There was a Sheila who caught my eye. My mate holds me back, shaking his head. "She's got 100,000 clicks on that chassis," he says. Laughing, I nearly choked on my beer. I replied, "After three months in the Never, and another pint, she'll look like a fairy princess. Mike Berger

Twenty Whacks It was pitch black and the moon hid behind a cloud. We crept up to the target not making a sound. We all got together on the side and with one giant heave we pushed the dunny over. It crashed and clattered as it hit the ground. Laughing, we turned and ran. Next day, my old man calls me out to the woodshed. He didn't mince any words. He asked if I had pushed the the dunny over. I stared at the floor. I nodded my head yes. My old man took a willow and gave me twenty whacks. I cried a little. Then I protested. "I told the truth, I didn't deserve twenty whacks." "Oh yes", he said "I knocked off twenty whacks for telling the truth." Then he smiled a wry little grin. "Next time you push the dunny over, make sure your Pa ain't in it. Mike Berger

Catholic Conundra A Found Poem from Internet Fora Telepathy: What does the church say on the subject? Is my son going to hell for spitting out the Eucharist? Can a woman eat her own placenta? Do angels have sex? Do angels finish your rosary if you fall asleep? Did Jesus have a sense of humour? Can Catholics practise yoga? Should I buy a cilice from ebay? How far into mass does a late arrival not fulfil my obligation? Why is Roman Catholicism attacked so often? Benjamin Dodds

Save Only as the Words of a Title Unremembered. The puppy will wriggle in pleasure, as you will pat her, rubbing hard against her firm back. She will be at that young stage where she shall have started to fill out. She will be heavy; your arms will want to droop, as you will lift her up off the floor. For a treat, you will guide her to lick and nibble at a large block of ice. In its heart of pearled bubbles will lie a raw sausage, also frozen, and beef; she will dig it out with tongue and teeth, and she shall eat it, gnawing in pleasure at the treat that is to come to her. And this will be on a late summer's day, a February where the temperatures shall soar, and the bushfire season shall have been fierce and full. You will still be living in this country, despite having seen your plans for emigration fall and fail. You will look back on this moment as a time for decision. You will leave here, you will move near your mother; she will need you, as she and her husband, your stepfather, shall both grow older. You shall hope, in your many hours of idleness, that she shall not die too soon. You shall also complete your studies. Turning aside from Classics, since you will agree that your inability to master Latin or Greek will mean that you will not succeed, you will return to English, and you will see that the marks that you will receive will be far higher than in your other subjects. You will enter Honours, with a scholarship.

You will not be living with her; your stepfather will have seen to that. You will not be living with your mother either, although you will not see that as this moment turns your thoughts onwards. You will not find love, not at the point where you live in another house, with a puppy that will wriggle as you pat her back. You will use a firm hand. You will think that she will think that she is being licked. And she will seek to lick back in turn. You will not consider much beside this: there are too many things to foresee, after all. And all this will arise as you will fall asleep in the now, as the year will draw nigh to death, and the newer year will surge forth, forwards into being. This is the way the world turns, is the saying that will not be remembered, except only in your subconscious. And you will dream, in your sleep, of an afternoon drive in the country, just you at the wheel of a car that you will not have been in, as a child, for almost two decades. And you will be at the wheel, and you will be alone. And you will not dream all this, all this that I have been speaking, save that afternoon, save that car. And in that car you will sing to a song long forgotten, save only as the words of a title unremembered. L. S. Fisher

Nocturne: Quatrain The smell of wood-smoke lingers in my memory. The nights are drawing colder over the land, like dreams of winter. L. S. Fisher

Death wrenches, slyly never more so than when someone you love goes gentle into the night. This man, this flesh, this voice you reason: now, extinct. Nature disproves us every time; and just when you hope he'll walk through the back door again, as he did on those hot summer days after he mowed the lawn or weeded his flower garden, in search perhaps for a glass of water or a cup of Greek coffee you hear your brother's laugh from inside the lounge. Like the sound of the gong in a Zendo (though with less gravity) you're reminded: dad is dead dad's alive. Helen Koukoutsis

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Lampropholis delicata All of a sudden, the anguished deathroll thundered in primal silence: one two three four . I touched its reptile hand with my index finger: a resolute spasm, but no life; its whole body flaccid against the shadowed concrete. I had killed a garden skink clipped its tiny head with the wheel of the garden-waste disposal bin. Helen Koukoutsis

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