Classic Poem

Indecision. Doubt. A bungled
liftoff, the bumpy landing. Of course,
the forest dwellers who continuously
run at you from tangled undergrowth
onto the stubbled airstrip, dreamlike,
dont make it: LAST CANNIBAL WORLD:
lithe tribal girl hand jobs hero through
bamboo cage. The spiked wooden ball
swishes from tree canopy to impale
support cast. Sunday matinee in country
town. Farm boys lope under dirty clouds
to crop-dusted paddocks, and water
slips by the BP Service Station, somewhere.