Mildura
by Tris Kerslake
A brown place, a dry-brown place. The long roads, flat roads, roads of dust and tumbleweed, roads straight to nowhere. The broad fields, fields stretched taut over the bones of the land, dry fields. The solitary trees, the white trees, trees in isolated splendour that march along the roads, that frame the broad fields. Mildura: a brown place, flat, broad, isolated, dry-brown place on a road straight to nowhere.
A busy place, busy like the old-time milking shed, bustle and stop; bustle and stop. Trains pass through, and buses, cars, multicoloured bees that buzz and zoom their ways. They paint the parking lot by numbers, they hug the noon-day shadows bright as flowers. A working place, square red buildings, low-roofed squats, air-conditioned, humidified; a worker’s place. Busy shops, tourist-sated, sprawling, undignified and cheerful, ice creams for the faithful. A busy place, buzzing, flower-bright, low-roofed, conditioned, and always ice cream for the faithful.
A young place, an old place, not for the middle years, get born here die here, no living here. Children squeal away the heat in garden sprays, dogs bounce and pant, parents sweat. Old folks rest and dream beneath the Jacarandas, dream of cooling breezes, dream time. Take the short way home, I would, the wrinkled woman polishes the sun away with cream. School comes out, drooping socks, tired satchels, sticky backs and books. A young place, and old place, squeal away, dream time beneath the Jacarandas, of sticky backs and books.
A dull place, bigoted, tucked into Victorian stays, no eagles ever landed here. Whitewash the back fence, brush down the fretwork, keep nice, behave. Whites here, blacks here, yellows and the sunburned pinks, elitist Mallee bulls. Unemployed, out of work, bludger, slug-a-beds and drunks, mate – you should see em’ all. Mildura, dull, bigoted, Victorian, whitewashed, sunburned and unemployed, mate – you should see em’.
A party place, night-life and restaurants, yabby-blues and three-inch steaks. A tourist place, meet you by the souvenirs, teaspoon capital of the State. Meet you in the Worker’s Club, meet you at the mini-golf, meet you in Mildura.