Red Landscape by Russell Drysdale, 1945.
The result of an attempt at a collaborative poem with Frankie Jay.
The Country Bride
The landscape was hot and dusty,
The birds refused to fly.
The lizards slept under shady rocks,
No clouds were in the sky.
The man sipped on a well-chilled beer,
A woman stood nearby.
The land and sky were open space
And yet they fenced her in.
She hated the house he’d built for her
A prison of hot tin;
She felt that she had been sent to hell
Without the fun of sin.
The weight of the sky crushed her down,
Pinning her to this place.
There was no way for her to leave,
No escaping the disgrace.
And so she did the daily tasks
While tears ran down her face.
He was used to the heat and dust;
He’d grown up on the land.
He watched as she did the laundry
But never lent a hand,
He sense that she was not happy
But did not understand.
© J Cosmo Newbery 2013