Can we forget?

Can we forget Myall,

can we forget any at all?


Massacres strewn like 

rubbish across the landscape.


Can we forget any?

Can we forget all?


Dissolved in history

for none to recall.


On the rubbish heap

of civilisation and buried 

deep, yes, deep—ah, but

not deep enough to stop

Eliot’s dog from digging 

it up, and presenting

its stench to us all.


Can we forget Myall

and all the others that 

time cannot delete, like 

plastic in the rubbish heap?


Time to face the grave,

to face ourselves,

to face the wasteland

of civilisation itself.