The majority

Luisa Mitchell

I. The In-Law

He spoke in a
self-
congratulatory tone
when he said
(through swilled beer)
of course
I’m voting yes
but
their side 

of politics
have half-arsed this campaign
and it seems to                       me
do Aborigines
even want this
Voice               thing-y?

                                                                                                Yes, well, (I start to say)
Amber spittle bursts
over my desire to please

For all                                      I see
is that Liberal                           First Nations               
poster-child-
what’s-her-name? smiling
and saying

colonisation                           
                        had
                                     no
                                                 negative
                                                                        consequences            
 for
their people

so, I must say
you can’t deny,
it’s been a bit
confusing,
hey?

II. The Artist

The artist was solemn and thoughtful and
going through                         a lot
right now
she carried a piteous

self-

righteous
look, downcast eyes
when she asked
so, what do     you     think                about the        Voice? 

Yes                  Yes                  Yes                  (I say)

Yet                   she remained troubled
and had more to say   like
it’s all so
confusing
sigh—
you see, I’m a two-tongued conduit
with this innate ability to speak to
both                sides
and as a           non      -           Indigenous                  Ally
we shouldn’t be voting on this           at all
and                                                       furthermore
(voice and finger raised)
we should raze this so-called country
to the ground
start afresh
Treaty first, I say, or death

…

Right, I say,                             right
unfortunately,                      we need you
right now
though
(???)

Hmmmmmmmmmmm
she screws up her face
and leaves
content
she has listened to                              both sides

III. The Caretaker

Old man                                  Grumpy
wheels his trolley in
the baking terracotta sun
ruler and custodian
of his block of thirty units
taken over by                                                  Indians
he barks out advice
freely and wholly                                            undesired
as all
white men have done
since they can trace
their bloody lines
back four precious
ancient
generations
 

Grumpy lives in a paradise
existing only to           him
Fair Go Utopia
where all are equal
except
tree-huggers and queue-jumpers
who should
go fuck themselves

Good morning, Grumpy         (I start)—

This country is falling
apart               he spits
thanks to
brown people
and the Labor Party
who wasted 2 billion dollars of good ratepayers
precious                                              mining dollars
on an
Indigenous                  Voice                           to                     Parliament
but let me know
if you need anything
darl?

IV. The Minority

Our majority
is your minority
three per cent
we       screamed
and the treetops
stirred
but the strollers below
went to the
beach
and bought
new cars
 

Not all grandpas are like
Grumpy
but I hear
     Marcia
whisper
in
my ear

 we’ll be waiting

two whole decades

before these  

boomers        

die out 

I’ll be 50 and
brutally                                   honest
before the                               majority
racists
ignorant
fuckers

have left this
earth

        so

we

wait

                                                and                 

we                              

wait

         and

we

wait