Listen here, ya feral bastards, from the dust-choked scrub to the concrete cages:
It’s the law of the land to shout your lungs out for this sun-scorched rock, but don’t go belittling someone else’s home just because you can. When some traveler or a whole mob rolls up thinking they’re the king of the castle, stand tall, keep your wits, but show some respect.
If a fresh soul stumbles off the boat, still smelling of salt and confusion, grab ‘em by the shoulder and point ‘em true. Give ‘em the good word and a helping hand before you worry about your old mates; don’t let ‘em feel cast aside or grow bitter in the heart before they’ve even settled in.
If they’re speaking in a tongue you don’t recognise, don’t just stare like a stunned mullet. Find someone who speaks their language and get ‘em talking. Drop whatever you’re doing; your own fun can wait. Treat ‘em right, because one day their kin will be out there in the heat, working and living just like the rest of us, same as the old-timers who came before us all.
With respect to Henry Lawson…
© Steve Gray 2026
