Poor Pretty Polly

Poor Pretty Polly

Poor Pretty Polly

Brokern again like a bad bad feeling
that keeps repeating and when you
finaly relax BANG it’s there again
SMACK wallop in your face, swirling
around in your day time night dreams

Trusted again once too much,
now she’s making wishes
when the moon is full

Curse the mother she never knew
curse the whiteman who raped her
mother, the mother she never knew,
curse those responsible, especially
those who knew

Poor poor pretty Polly, lies silent
in an inner surburban gutter.
‘What a sweety’, ‘such a shame’,
‘so pretty and now she’s dead’.
Some say of a brokern heart, others
snigger ‘she gave too much’. Some
say, some say, ‘poor poor pretty Polly’
Rest in Peace


(For Clinton Nain’s exhibiton: Under the bridge, Sydney, 2003)