Snow on Ayers Rock
angry words frozen solid
in the white rented car
sometimes there´s even
snow on Ayers Rock
a shower of accusations
in the narrow hotel room
Uluru´s tears flow down
in small channels of old
the dreamings of men
and those of the women
are sometimes the same
but more often they´re not
every cave, every crack
in the surface of the rock
demands an explanation
and the black fellas give one
all the lines, all the scars
on my face – and yours
have their little stories too
but white fellas forget some.