Before the summer city begins

by ROSS JACKSON 

before dwellings begin swelling across the plain
of hot, grey sand
crows, magpies, goannas, galahs
hopping on and off roadways scant of traffic
they’re on a mostly fruitless mission
since not much nutrition
in thatches of yellow grass

some way off, still back of mind
high ranges of glittering glass
where the summer city
crowds around a river beating unruffled blue
not the right place, for those for whom
a servo, an IGA, a sports ground
and a tavern will do