As kids we poured our smart-arse scorn
on the four-foot screeching Dalek hordes
because a single flight of stairs
could stop the whole invasion dead
in its little rubber-tyred tracks.
We’re older now, the jokes have stopped.
Instead, we’re clamouring for more tar
to pave our way to glory, for
at sixteen, humans grow a car
and never leave the road again.
Present us with a mountain now,
deprive us of our wheels, and watch
our jelly legs and blubber arms
struggle and fail. The Dalek curse:
we can’t go where we cannot roll.
from Mapless in Underland, Ginninderra Press 2004