Monotreme
Mark O’Flynn
He must have been tired
six days out from Sydney town,
having been shown some ancient
cataracts and arable pastureland
dormant beneath primitive sclerophyll forest.
Having accounted for Hobart’s intricate grace
from the top of Mt Wellington –
rising sea levels seemed to say it all,
now how do I get down? The guide didn’t know.
They traipsed about, lost, for several hours.
He’d been away from home a long time,
missing the comfort of his bed, perhaps.
Banks was right, plenty of Banksias.
Somewhere along the track to Bathurst
someone produced a curious creature
the excellent flat-footed, duck-bill platypus
with its poisonous spur and habit of laying eggs.
What place might such a being
have in his new schema of regarding the world?
He must have been tired
for as records fail to show
Darwin gave a little shrug, a stifled yawn
as he handed the creature back, not curious, no.
Nor quite ready to yield up God, despite
God, hereabouts, being nowhere to be seen.
Feature image via 'Art Collection - The Metropolitan Museum of Art'