Oranges and sunshine
Who wouldn’t fall for it?
Oranges! Sunshine!
through itch and scratch of tweed coats
dream disks radiating warmth
seduce them into smiling -
gap-toothed orphanage kids
from the Midlands slums
their transparent skins
slurp up their first Australian sun
They charge down the gangways
shoe-leather clattering
pulsating with chattering
then : Stop! A blanket of silence
thrust over their heads
hurtles them into the slime
of adult deceit
and serpentine promises
still sliced away by half a world
from mothers they barely knew
In outback Oodnadatta
this same winter ‘57
Dick Roberts, white Australian cop,
pushed a half-can of apricot jam
towards Zita,
five-year-old Pitjantjantjara
playing near a ditch with her sister
In a flash she was snatched tied
into the back of the truck
through red dust tears she could see
her mother beating beating
fists into the bitumen
No more oranges
no more sunshine
no more apricot jam:
just fists into the bitumen
