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One caravan
eight children
Mum
Dad no longer was required
an invalid
doomed for the grog
in Dungog

Nowhere to go
nothing to do
accepted by emptiness
lonely
pushed aside
like a two cent coin

No one in town respected us
We were losers
treated as a dog
In Dungog

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Twenty-two never worked
a chance
one chance
work
esteem
hope
on the land a full day’s work
escaping the fog
in Dungog

What do I live for?
all alone
my speech is quite slow
my presence untidy
people tend to stare
but it’s me in here
searching for pride.
suicide

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