camels

I wrote this little poem while lying in Jane's hammock in Broken Hill about two weeks ago. We'd just been riding camels near Silverton.

It must be remembered
that camels pull
saltbush
from scarlet earth
with nicotine-coloured teeth
the size
of your pinkie

and chew
with doey eyes
that roam the pock-marked
face of the desert
in contemplation
of the next green
stem.