A Miracle: May 2019, the Australian election

John Stuart, Evans Head

You see him here, there, you see him everywhere,

serious, smiling,  performing for us to share,

with workers matching jackets, one of the boys,

later a press conference, using jargon with poise,

devoutly in church, of course, while singing praise,

cameras conveniently present so we can gaze,

eating a democracy sausage, then a quiet beer,

deliberate, designed, presented to endear,

a fair dinkum bloke, really, who has wide appeal,

but these  perverted personas do not reveal.

This is a man whose word cannot be trusted,

supporting corrupt colleagues when they’re busted,

using government ads to support his campaign,

political propaganda with all to gain,

attacking refugees, the Greens, reforms and change,

the alternatives never noted, just rearrange

past policies, wilful waste and senseless squander,

the heart of our nation and our sense of wonder,

submarines, precious water, the Barrier Reef,

coal mines, climate change with a sense of grief.

In the hollow facade of the voting placard,

are political promises with no regard

for the Great Australian emptiness returning,

always warming the soul, with a yearning, yearning,

for a miracle, mystery, our destiny,

the coming culmination of our history,

in a nation of purity, natural and free,

rainforests, rivers flowing and an open sea,

come in stranger, you are welcome, for you are me,

this may yet be, grace, harmony, eternally.