A poem by Marc Glasby

Toorak Taxis

A POEM BY MARC GLASBY

There's a load of Toorak taxis headin' for the back o' Bourke taken out by city cowboys going west to "make 'em work"

They follow one another like a herd of bloody sheep The things they say about the bush would make a swaggie weep

They're loaded up with camping gear and bucket loads of beer But ask 'em if they've got a spade they seem to go all queer

They tear along the dusty trail without a thought or care Until they get a second flat without another spare

Driving on the unsealed road they never stop for rain They chew it up so no one else can use the track again

They camp right by the river and lather up with soap To leave the campsite fresh and clean is just too much to hope

Unprepared and uninformed they're heading off out back Making lists of all they need but then forget to pack

Their stereos are blasting for all the world to hear the wildlife flees in terror whenever they appear

Some noisy thoughtless people who spoil it for the rest are flattening the bush again somewhere off out west

Their shiny brand new four wheel drives without a scratch or dent come home a little worse for wear and looking rather bent

So when you see them coming you'd best be on your way and like the roo keep running until they're far away.