Australia’s at war again, they say
But you wouldn’t know it.
You can’t see it on the streets
In the pub
At the park
On the train
It’s a silent war
A newspaper war
Goodies and baddies
A war we’re not meant to feel.
A million miles away bombs drop from high above
Some controlled by computers, some by Australians
Noble warriors of this patriotic team
There is blood.
Whose war are we fighting?
Who are we killing?
We don’t know.
They don’t know.
As it should be.
Back home, and morning doors are opened; plastic swords are sheathed
High definition cameras enter private spaces
Constructing a threat
Ten years ago we marched.
Half a city spoke
When (un)Australians still had voices.
Ignored, they returned to their houses
Now who is left to speak?
As left and right link hands and send us off to battle
Who is left to fight?
In Team Australia, dissent lives at the margins.
At times subtle: lone woman, midday sun, sacred flame, our flag (and hers).
At times intense: Brothers and sisters, split by a fence
In their hundreds
Denounce the West.
Rightly, yes, but how has it come to this?