Broome, Western Australia

Wet season came

In the cool of the night

And stole from the days

All the crowds and the hype

Leaving slivers of sunlight

For us to soak up

A must before dawn 

When the mozzies wake up

The heat starts to burn

At the back of your throat

And the stingers they lap

At the hull of your boat

I open my window at night before sleep

Hear the deafening noise

As Cicadas creep

And the frogs come alive

In the pipes and the drains

Waiting like us

For relief from the rains

The aircons all groan

As they work overtime

There’s no expectations

A little less crime

There’s midges and monsoons

Fire red dirt

You’ll wear all the colours

Of Broome on your shirt 

But as harsh as this season

Can be when you’re here

Raising children and living

From year to year

There’s a smell and a quiet

That’s hard to give up

The storms and the landscape

Get to your gut

They move through your soul

And into your heart

Where you can’t help but love

The hate it can spark

Car parks are empty 

Coffee lines vanish

No more champagne 

Or events that are lavish 

Kids come to the markets

Straight from their beds

With hair that is messy

Dressed in old threads

There’s stingers and crocs

Swimming season is done

Not a soul to be seen

When I go for my run

The mangos they smell

Like a sweet syrup dream

Lining the footpaths

And bowls of ice cream

Broome’s not what you think

There are secrets that hide

In the mangroves and moonlight 

And king ocean tides 

The wet is the soul

Of this town, although brief 

You can feel locals breathing

A sigh of relief

After so many years

With your feet on this turf

It’s hard to deny

There’s no place on earth

Like Broome