Christmas in the Outback

(For a thick Aussie accent)

It was Christmas in the outback
when my baby went missing.
I was off with my boyfriend
boozing and kissing.

See, I’d called up the salon
and I’d pulled a day’s sickie,
planned a trip to the outback
for some brews and a quickie.

I wasn’t sick. No, it was all
just an excuse
to chill and drink booze
and cop off with Bruce.

I rang him. “Hey Bruce mate,
get suited and booted”.
Bruce says “Hey Shauna,
you wanna get rooted?”

So we’re out in the desert
not far from Ayer’s Rock
I’m straddling Bruce,
you know, riding his cock

and in between kisses
I said, “Hey Bruce, maybe
we should pop to the car,
you know, check on the baby.”

So we walked back over
the baking red sand.
(I loved the baby
though he was unplanned).

Bruce got to the car first,
shouted “where did the thing go?”
“Your littl’un’s gone babe,
fetched off by a dingo”.

I panicked, I screamed,
I dropped down in the dirt.
Were those splashes of blood?
Were these scraps of his shirt?

Was he gone? If so, where
and which way?
He can’t have gone far
in the heat of midday.

Out there in the outback,
the heat is oppressive.
Just getting out of the car
is pretty impressive.

If I’m totally honest
I started to panic.
Even Bruce was looking
unusually manic.

He popped the top off
of another cold brew,
said “Ah, strewth Shauna,
whadda we do?”

I said, “that dingo’s an
unusually bold one
to fetch off my midget
while I’m necking a cold one.

“A dingo’s a scavenger,
not prone to predation.
If he’s fetched off a baby,
he’s facing starvation.

“Well I got some bad news
for that right thieving fucker:
No way is he having
my tot for bush tucker.”

“Ah, good on ya, babe”,
said Bruce with a smile,
“dingo’s are tiny. He’s not
gone more than a mile

“but each moment we waste
that circle enlarges
and the hot, flat, dry desert
throws up more mirages.”

“You’re right, Bruce”, I told Bruce.
“He’s gotta be near.
Let’s get straight to looking
once I finish this beer.”

A couple brews later,
my senses are reeling.
Bruce hands me a joint
and asks how I’m feeling.

“Well Bruce mate”, I say,
“in fact I feel rotten.
I don’t really know why.
I must have forgotten.

It feels there was something
important to do.”
Bruce puts aside
his didgeridoo.

“I know what you mean babe”,
says Bruce with a frown.
“Let’s finish this cocaine
and drive back to town.

“Don’t forget I was planning
on going to bingo”.
“Oh strewth!”, I said startled,
“I forgot about bingo!”

About six weeks later
I went out for a run
And the jogging jogged
memories of my little son.

I thought about running
straight to the police station
but I didn’t much fancy
an interrogation.

Maybe I should have
but my bridges were burnt.
I made a mistake.
My lessons are learnt.

If you go out to the outback,
you may not get back out.
Knowing that these days
I just drink till I blackout.

If you think that I’m crackers,
demented, a failure,
then you must know fuck-all
about life in Australia!