by Fred Duncan
Drill holes in the spinifex break through the Pilbara crust,
Red land/hills, red rocks, red sunset – and red a rusted sign:
“NO ENTRY: Rio Tinto” – the irony is thrust
On people whose existence must align
The spirit of their future with the spirits of their past;
Blasting rips through Juukan’s caves – the Gorge a broken spine,
Shelters, streams and songlines gone, all smothered in red dust.
“We know this was your country, but what was yours is mine.”