Mitchell River Weir

Screaming boys 
Indian-whoop
down.
Pirates doomed to walk the plank.
Pilots parachuting to peril.
Swagger-chested, summer-scorched, proud
strutting atop the tumbled weir
pissing defiance
taunting
daring
 
take
the 
plunge.
 
Women
Dabble at the base
burdened with
toddlersrugsdogssunhats.
Men gone
fishing,
their afternoon is
free
to swat hordes of marsh flies
administer lotion,
distribute boxed juices.
 
Laughing, splashing, racing
boys egg-beater up stream.
 
The river briefly re-asserts
then
   a rush of heads,
      seal-wet and slick
         bobs into view.
 
The mothers sigh.

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