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


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