An Ode to Shark Bay Road

Western Australia

morning at Monkey Mia, Western Australia

breakfast with emus

and haircuts only Mad Max might love.

nourished, we say good-bye to dolphins and Monkey Mia,

already the sun has opinions.

gas in the tank, Denham graveyard beckons,

a sun-burned parcel garnished with dime-store flowers

and dancing garden gnomes.

Jane “Janie” Winder, beloved wife of Darby,

shares fresh pink mums, a befitting tribute to

her impressive 101 years,

proof that someone survived

everything,

including this place.

we set our guidance for the Thong Shack,

envisioning salacious panties blowing in the ocean breeze.

instead, we arrive to be-noted flip flops and single soles nailed to wood,

less scandal,

more sun-bleached sincerity.

quiet disappointment and sweet delight ride side by side on this road.

did we cross the 26th parallel?

no one knows.

this land does not bother with lines.

Shell Beach undulates to the rhythm of “One Day,”

a promise in my ear,

a handful of history in my palm—

every motion a crunching chorus

of ancient seas.

10:50 a.m.

the road (and our tires) claim the first offering—

a large lizard,

mid-journey, mid-stride, mid-dream.

we say ‘sorry’ out loud

as if that will help,

murmur another prayer for roadkill.

punishment or cyclone fodder?

the boardwalk to the stromatolites is closed.

of course it is.

it’s hotter than hoo hoo out here,

the caravan crowds descend

and the air feels personal.

bill launches his drone—

hope buzzing skyward—

I read Bill Bryson,

sweat dripping like tears down my face,

water bottle empty,

patience soon to follow.

stromatolites courtesy of bill’s drone (look them up!)

“we crossed a continent for this?”

why, yes.

yes, we did.

Hamelin Pool Station stands unimpressed

by our sacrifice.

still…

salvation arrives at Wooramel Roadhouse:

ginger beer, coffee, clean restroom,

a pit stop worthy of praise.

to our stash, we add one bawdy sticker,

one found galah feather—

pink and grey grace

on a day that’s tried its best to melt us.

and still,

we keep going like

persistent vapor whispering secrets through

this dreamtime land.

musings from another day on the road. poem ‘as is’ … just like life and heat and crazy dreams of road trips across impossible, fantastical countries. thanks for reading.