Arsehole Sheepherder: a poetry of abuse

On the bush block tainted by asbestos there are now sheep eating
undergrowth down to dirt;
on the market for a couple of years, it is mainly salt,
but some good bush abuts
Wambyn Nature Reserve—literally one of those last bastions
of rare and endangered marsupials. The farmer
who eventually took it off the real estate
agent’s hands is going to run it into the ground—destabilised
soil spilling across road and downhill
into the creek, sheeps’ hooves sparking ironstone gravel.