former Australian prime minister, Bob Hawke. (circa '85)By 1990, no Australian child will live in poverty
The night streets are agape
like dark hollow eyes
blind in their despair.
And you clad in your overcoat of expectancy
freeze in the chill of winter.
The edges of your mind
like the edges of the gutters
are sharp and cold.
And you remember your mother's words:
"A hard road for an old dog
and puppies on the footpath."
And now it is your time
and these are your streets
of labour and birth.
You toil on past hostile dwellings
and obscene restaurants
seeking out a stable
beneath the mercy of stars -
A stable warm with manger, animals and straw.
This is what was promised you.
But the streets sneer:
"This child you bear is not our saviour."
And you know there are no Magi
or angels waiting for you in this Bethlehem
beneath the Southern Cross.
And your past follows you down
the streets of your pain
and somewhere in the wound
of this abyss called a city
your future intersects with your present
in a blaze of lights
and your child is born
upon a cross of stone
and broken glass
