Shuttlebus North 7/8/03

The huts, the umbrella leaves - all filmset reams
The red road fades like henna
to the realm of the familiar
and the red's the red of a pantry wall,
of bay,
Television has done it's work well -
nothing
is afire with exoticism
or fresh and sweet and crushed sugarcane juice

but being here, with the red stinging your hands,
colouring your teeth,
is as throwing open the windows in a tiny room,
letting in the ribbons of heat and sand
and the coconut trees bending like longbows
to strike you in the eye and heart
to knock you back like the ankle-deep potholes
pounding beneath you