Country towns, with your willows and squares, <br />And farmers bouncing on barrel mares <br />To public houses of yellow wood <br />With '1860' over their doors, <br />And that mysterious race of Hogans <br />Which always keeps the General Stores…. <br /> <br />At the School of Arts, a broadsheet lies <br />Sprayed with the sarcasm of flies: <br />'The Great Golightly Family <br />Of Entertainers Here To-night'– <br />Dated a year and a half ago, <br />But left there, less from carelessness <br />Than from a wish to seem polite. <br /> <br />Verandas baked with musky sleep, <br />Mulberry faces dozing deep, <br />And dogs that lick the sunlight up <br />Like paste of gold – or, roused in vain <br />By far, mysterious buggy-wheels, <br />Lower their ears, and drowse again…. <br /> <br />Country towns with your schooner bees, <br />And locusts burnt in the pepper-trees, <br />Drown me with syrups, arch your boughs, <br />Find me a bench, and let me snore, <br />Till, charged with ale and unconcern, <br />I'll think it's noon at half-past four!<br /><br />Kenneth Slessor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/country-towns/
