A little aboriginal boy asked me
Do you like the heat and flies? Mister

Sure I said
They don’t bother me

But then I am not here for a long time son
Why do you ask?

This is my country
It’s what you get in my place
Heat and flies and sore eyes

And the puss in his left eye
Gave the newest fly a base
A second fly garaged itself
Halfway up a small nostril

I wiped his face with my handkerchief
And
Washed his eyes and nose with my water

He smiled and said again
This is my country
It’s what you get in my place
Heat and flies and sore eyes

Then he put his arms around me and kissed me