Flying Over Cunnamulla

Jim Macnamara

I fly over Cunnamulla.
Tiny spot on a vast canvass
near where I was born
another world ago.
Now I ride at forty thousand feet
in First Class, eating prawns
in ginger sauce and sipping Mumm.
I remember when I ate yabbies
from the creek and drank beer
in towns like Cunnamulla.

I’ve seen LA and New York,
caught the Boston shuttle,
watched Harvard rowers slip
through morning mists in autumn.
Fifth Avenue,
jostled in and out of Kennedy,
Heathrow, Schipol, Sydney.
Devoured learning at universities
on my quest; the beacon dream
that burns on distant shores.

But is there part of me down there
left behind, forever young,
forever bound with the red earth
and the endless plains?
Is the simplicity forever lost?
And the peace forever gone?
I can’t help think as I sit here
that they are happier down there
in the red summer haze
waiting for rain.


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• Jim Macnamara presents refereed paper at the Australian and New Zealand Communication Association (ANZCA) 2008 conference, Wellington New Zealand