Poems
Motor Prowling
A poem by Chris Miller, Adelaide, SA.
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He’s prowling on Hanson Road,[1] knife and fork poised to eat the lusty flesh of the younger of two Koori girls, crouched in front of the shop —on the corner of Hamilton Street. A young’n he wishes to bargain buy, tho’ she’s probably already serviced a platoon of prowlers No matter! He semaphores using the lashes —of his lascivious eyes. White BMW hovers Gubba[2] testosterone burns hot Electric windows dipping, lips licking —phallus kicking "Are you looking for a girl?" Out of touch with space or time, suspended on an Eastern-suburb’s fiscal line "How much?" —"Thirty bucks for head: seventy for full!" "Do I get fries with that? Oh, piss off!" Just another hot asphalt day in a moving bordello for this cold cat —Car fumes his aphrodisiac Speeding to industrial lot, one eye poised for the cops his one-eye wonder blinking Sinking, she sighs —"I said seventy mate." "Blacks only get forty I want the complete naughty So take it or leave it!" She pauses, purses her lips, —followed by the notes Condom flung intact out of window gaping Protest silenced Two hands round face, small finger in eye —witness egalitarian lie The sun melts the chill of her life as she peels her skin He spins his tyres between her thighs, smokes a doughnut —Leaves rubber on her neck and chin Run over by the colour of her skin She wipes her face, adjusts her pants, ready again for another dance "Drop us back at Hamilton?" —"No chance!" Feds scour homelands for paedophiles black Shaming, blaming Nose-in-air media all a flutter Truth melts like heated butter —Hypocritical shits. 8,000 mandatory checks over 40 years 37 cases of abuse physical Sexual assault numbers only four Army helps open door —for whining mining Then AFP[3] does moonlight flit Skulks away: finds "Jack Shit" But who permits the bikies and other armed militias To drug the Homelands anyway? —Crime Gangs Task forces In cities they cowardly bash, entrap, gaol but protect fortressed bikies Allow the icing of suburb and region Tear at the blindfold of a winking Ms Justice —Drug Squads are Mr Hydes[4] Sun-glassed patrols of black-shirted Jeckyls can’t see the street walkers Mount ‘media-event’ operations on stealthy stalkers for the sake of wet-behind-ears reporters —Community languishes Yet Mulligan[5] turned up 162 cases Cops, administrators had reddened faces Politicians fudge and media mute They’d told us "No underage sex here!" —"Adelaide’s beaut!" So where’s the intervention here then? Let’s "Welfare Card" politician payments! Or close this deviant community I.C.A.C. SAPOL? (Sorry, closed sessions only!) —Police Complaints: in name only On Hanson the thirteen-year olds have become invisible Media’s pulled focus, cops are all myopic —‘White’ paedophilia disappears as a topic Meanwhile Licensing Branch secretly manage two hundred white brothels illegal In suburbs and on main roads, reproducing like cane toads —while Nungas are left to walk the streets When motor prowlers come stalking for black girls it’s "su casa es mi casa"[6] Legislators scream "let’s criminalise the buyers" - "Swedish model well adopt!" —Either way it’s honey for the cops Girls will tell you rapes by ‘protecting’ coppers number most Top cops smooth media frowning while in their private cars they come motor prowling —Knife and fork poised
Chris explains how this poem came about:
"The intent behind this poem was to highlight the glaring contradictions between the supposed 'child abuse' excuses used to justify the 2007 Intervention and the ongoing reality of under-age Indigenous sex in Adelaide.
"I asked myself the question: if there were 162 cases sent to trial out of some 500 reported incidents brought to light by the Mulligan Inquiry into child sex,[5] then why wasn't there an equivalent armed intervention imposed on that aberrant and deviant community? Why wasn't t there a closer scrutiny of the role of these community leaders - politicians and SAPOL [South Australia Police] - and the break down of law and order with a subsequent welfare-carding of their salaries?
"The poem asks the curly question why 200-odd illegal, tax-evading brothels are allowed to operate unimpeded by the Licensing Branch while Indigenous prostitutes are forced unfairly to ply their trade on the streets and are subjected to ongoing racist harassment and imprisonment."
Chris is a non-Aboriginal writer.