deo optimo maximo
for Matt Foley
lurching onto the highway
sporting a rushed pair of $5.95 truck-stop sunglasses
facing off with this intermittent black line,
its cusps hidden in gullies forging south
as it does northward
curvaceous segments of road
like black smiles and frowns
either gazing in the direction of the Pacific or the hinterlands,
dark horses upon the clearing of the dreamtime tabernacles
this stretch from Brisbane to the Gold Coast
since the 70s, its character has been raped too
in what was briefly Joh’s country
yes!
multi-lane monument to the Gods of old and new,
the bandits touched by the spiritual fingers of radar guns
and speed cameras,
the all-knowing, all-seeing
deo optimo maximo; on the tongues of the rogues
—to God, the best and greatest yet, by God’s hand
what happened to the beasts that inhabited the African Lion Safari?
and did the UFO above the roadhouse just fly away?
or can we even recognise the cemetery
where the solitary Anzac stands
that the surfers would salute
to secure a pact with Huey and his crystal palace on the early morning tide?
protected from the glare by $5.95 truck-stop sunglasses
no one respects the speed limits
and no one owns up to the roadside crosses
’cause I know
there is no God—
there is only the living