Stands motionless, with spear haft thrust
Into the desert’s scarlet dust.
Upon one leg, foot on one knee,
Dark eyes through shimmering heat-haze see
Blurred forms towards him leap and bound
Across scorched plains of arid ground.
His muscles flex as ends his wait.
The lance is raised and now too late
The mob explodes in mortal fear
As woomera launches the spear
Of gidgee hardened by the flame;
Its flight is true and so his aim.
One kangaroo, gore-splattered grey;
A feast, his tribe will have this day.
He draws his weapon from the dead;
The jagged point glistens blood-red.