Nothing
I said nothing when the trees were felled,
then uprooted, and replaced with a wider highway.
I said nothing when the birds took flight
and disappeared and koalas starved and died.
I said nothing, hardly noticed, when
the homeless disappeared, to a less tidy
neighbourhood with a little more grace.
My life was unaffected by the refugees
dying in our prison camps, just offshore,
so I said nothing.
I still said nothing when millions
lived in poverty, with low wages and little welfare.
I was unresponsive to the women
who died at the hands of their lovers
and I said nothing about the seven men dying
each week from suicide.
I said nothing when my country
went to yet another war
and two neighbours lost their sons
to the endless bloodshed.
I said nothing when Middle Eastern me
were deported without cause
and their women were harassed.
I couldn’t care less when gay people
were vilified and beaten up
with righteous anger,
so I said nothing or maybe even cheered.
Now my city’s nearly empty,
my son’s have gone to war
and I live in poverty and despair
and there’s nobody left
to say nothing.
Peter Cartwright
December 2016
