Page 78 of A Town Like Clarence

Joey exchanged a grin with his siblings. When Patty got on to waxing lyrical about her beloved bush poetry, she could go on for hours.

‘Written bush poetry has stricter rules about the rhyme and meter,’ said his mum. ‘Performance can get away with more because whoever’s performing it can skip syllables and force words to make the rhyme and rhythm work. I’ve written some articles on this exact subject, that I coul—’

Amy’s hand was in the air like she was in school. ‘Ooh, ooh, how about a demo?’

‘Excellent idea, Amy lamb,’ said Robbo. ‘Why don’t you tell us all the one you wrote for homework.’

‘I cooooouuuld,’ said Amy, clearly delighted at the suggestion but wanting to wring a little more attention out of the moment. ‘Only, it’s not really about the bush; it’s more of a farm thing.’

‘Some of the best bush poems are about farming,’ said Daisy. ‘Droving … that happens on farms. Clicking shears? That happens on farms, too. I’d love to hear it, and so wouldeveryone, isn’t that right, everyone?’

‘Ahem,’ said Amy, clearing her throat. ‘Okay, but Uncle Joey, you might need tissues. Just saying.’

‘I’ll try to be brave,’ he said, tearing off a chunk of damper and passing the fletch of bread to Felicity. He gave Kirsty a wink and filled her glass with water from the jug.

‘My Dog Ran Off,’ Amy announced, ‘by Amy Miles, Age 8.’ She flicked her plait behind her shoulder and took a breath.

My dog ran off one sunburned day and left me all alone

He wasn’t there to meet me when the school bus dropped me home

Perhaps he chased a wading bird who’d landed on our dam …

… he woofed at it to fly away, then ran and ran and ran

Or maybe he was lying in the cool dirt by the shed

And saw a great goanna trying to gobble down our eggs

My dog, he would have leapt up! He would have shown his yellow teeth!

He would have chased that lizard off: ‘Be gone, you greedy sneak!’

Sometimes, it’s true, he’d wander down the creek a mile or two

He’d snuffle through the grasses, dip his belly in the cool

He’d run the old farm fence line, kicking up the country dust

… but never ever ever had my dog not met my bus

Half past three, upon the dot, and never, ever late

He’d be there when the school bus slowed beside our rusty gate

He’d dance a jig around me as I leapt down with my pack

He’d keep close right beside me, through the farm gate, up the track

I’d hug him at the homestead and I’d scratch his ears just right

I’d read him bedtime stories when the day turned into night

BUT … BUT

… BUT

My dog ran off one sunburned day and left me all alone

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