Blinding

:for farmer Bob there is now despair and confusion,

his bed is bent to fit his evolution from bright youth

to a fifty-four-year-old man, and his family shrink to

fit his emotions distempered by drought, his black

blood having nowhere for it to bleed from the years

of gazing into nothingness, his withered family

having remained by his side in the Mallee that has

broken their hearts, hearts which beat hard for

broken crops, for broken cattle, for rainfall, for if

it rains, joy is invited back for an encore, when the

farthest truth of this Mallee farm is that of bumper

crops and rounded cattle, and as if to disorientate,

a black-armed storm testing his sanity, is rumbling

and rolling toward his family farm, spitting and

cursing as it conquers, rains raping and gouging,

and the family can only move into damage control:

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