Musgrave Park Dusk 1983 : 25 lines of Blank Verse about the indigenous people living between two cultures.
Like darkened wraiths they weave through the mist
Moth-like to their separate fires;
With here, a friendly greeting
There, a muttered curse like an incantation.
The flame-flickered light giving the illusion
Of a silent film threading through a faulty projector.
Leaning against the trunks of convenient trees
Or squatting cross-legged in a ragged circle,
They still display a degree of downtrodden dignity
In their simple gestures, their earthy natures.