As the road dips and weaves, pitching on like the swell

I conclude you’re all sea-faring folk

Exiled to the interior, the jungle, the mountains

Rebuilding your ocean dreams there

___

I creep slowly past your scrapyard machines

Resurrected to life each new day

And I get why at times they throw themselves down

Those ravines in search of some rest

___

Your tarpaulin tents and your smouldering fires

Seem a crude home, a tough one at best

Your budgets are plundered through layered corruption

Your toil quick reduced to a patchwork

___

And yet you press on making way where there was none

Morphing long walks to much shorter drives

You continue your craft despite all the wrongs

So that greetings and harvests be traded

___

I admit that at times I’ve thrown up on your art

Cursed the endless hairpins you created

But I wish you all well; I wish safety and joy

Warm food and good yarns at day’s end

___

You’ve done me great kindness for more than two decades

Shown me sights I wouldn’t otherwise have seen

You got me to Nggongi, Kanangar, Laitipi:

I’m thankful for you and your gifts.