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.