A poem in support of Tahlia and Emma at the Roe 8 protest

Sweeney Witnesses the Attack on the Coolbellup Bush
by the Forces of a Corrupt Police State

for Tahlia and Emma

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

to the ground, plough into the ploughed sand

and wait helpless till collected by the mulcher

and spat into a pile of has-beens, signed-off on.

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

into the clouds of toxic dust generated by the smash-

and-grab, by the sweeping of the last pieces

from the board in an endgame not quite going to plan.

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

into the microclimate of asbestos, the bush stressed

as dumping ground for waste no one wants to pay for,

then murdered because other forms of life test reality’s limits.

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

into the crowd of protesters, some wearing face masks,

others exposed to the dust that reaches into front gardens,

houses, the small amount of space allotted to public recreation.

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

into the police lines, police told to watch out for the particles,

that it will cost them too in the long run, but the Big Cop

says hold your positions, breathe in, breathe out, it’s all propaganda.

Wings clipped, you’d expect Sweeney to plunge

into the bulldozer, stuff up its hydraulics, its bamboozled

driver bragging of his agency. And all the while the women

up the trees looking down and roosting, roosting, roosting.

Wings clipped he lifted, flying high, to sit close with Tahlia.

Wings clipped he lifted, flying high, to sit close to Emma.

Together, he said, Together we will keep the trees upright.

Together, he said, We will unravel the bulldozer, the mulcher.

            John Kinsella