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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.