Alice

Uluru

A place where the funny looking platypus,
Is a duck-faced monotreme, and the echidna
Is spiny on the dorsal side, both, egg-laying mammals. 
The kangaroo is a jumping life-form,
Trampolining away, letting in a balcony view,
To a little joey inside her elastic pouch.
And in the middle of the outback, you find
Alice Springs, where every tourist and backpacker,
Goes on camel-back, a place equidistant,
From Adelaide and Darwin, colloquially called Alice.
And you listen to the radio station that you first tuned into,
As you speed south, past Alice Springs, map firmly in hand,
Driving past bare spaces of a badass outback,
The dusty roads made of cohesive red clay,
Cluttered with dead kangaroos and possums,
Listening to a song which goes like,
“24 years I’ve been living next door to Alice”
Funnily, when the song finally ends, you are
Near a monolith, a flaming redhead, a ginger dome,
Tall, and sculpting a plateauing rock formation,
Which looks bigger than on postcard or stamp.
A rock called Uluru, sculpted of sandstone,
A wonder of the outback, which I suppose, like the ending lyrics,
Of that hackneyed song on radio, will never,
Get used to, not living next door to Alice.

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