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The Dubbo dust storm


I woke from luxurious slumber
And stretched out my arms with a sigh.
The day loomed large, no plans did I have,
When a cough turned my throat sore and dry.

I threw back the bedsheets and sharp little breath
Told me something was seriously wrong.
I ran to the window and closed it right quick,
For the burnt dust was acrid and strong.

I covered my mouth with a trembling hand,
Thinking this was my last day on Earth!
A bright orange haze, oh its rusty malaise
Caused me terror and crazed bursts of mirth.

I telephoned home, oh the ring took forever,
When mum did my feeble voice hear.
‘I can’t breathe, I’m a prisoner, oh, what should I do?
I so wish I could counter my fear.’

‘Get inside, run the tap, close the bathroom door,
Put a wet cloth right over your face.
You’ll survive, it’s reached Sydney, the sky is aflame,
In the outback this is commonplace.’

As the time, it went by and my courage increased,
I cautiously twisted the handle.
The dust, it had settled, the sun bright it shone,
So my innards, they gently untangled.

When I ventured outside, oh my car was a mess,
In the night we’d had pelting mud rain.
Spattered windows and hub caps, the shops dripping down,
The town swamped in spiced chocolatey stain!

The dust, it had come from Broken Hill,
A drought affected zone.
The winds, they blew, a startling gust,
The top soil dry as stone.

El Nino, did he cause this storm?
Or humans’ chugging cars?
Volcanoes also veil the sun
And shutter out the stars.

Now that I look back on that day
I’m still a touch spellbound.
We’re not the masters of our world,
Our tenuous grip profound.

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