Australian poetry

Poem - The Wallabies, Flinders Island by Mark O'Connor

I can find the wombat
grass-snuffler, abroad in the day
like a bland hairy pig
or a fallen koala with middle-age spread;
but the small people stay in the ti-tree
watching me out in the open.
For ten thousand years they have kept their fear
without man or dingo
since the sea washed round their hills.
They long to drink, but it isn't safe,
not yet, until after the gun is heard