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A north Australian camp site – journey's end
Dear to a group of drivers who are old.
Retirees, in their massive rigs, pretend
They’re freed from obligation, and the cold.

One couple, on the open road for weeks,
Wave off a fellow traveller, after beers;
They’ve not the sort of politics he seeks.
Dull chat, then tea . . . Can this be done for years?

With grim despair declaring: “No more lies”
They both admit they’re bored by too much green.
Who would have thought that endless open skies
Could come to feel so bare, small towns so mean?

Unburdened, man and wife decide instead
To set a course for smog, and their own bed.