ASSESSING THE SHOW
Posted: Mon Dec 20, 2010 11:56 pm
It's Tough being a prospector
ASSESSING THE SHOW
We tried to hide excitement as we stared down at our find,
a leader showing copper was enough to blow one’s mind.
Though insignificant right now, there could be wealth below,
perhaps just hidden underground; another ‘Isa’ show.
It was a desolate spot, not a decent tree in sight,
with summer now upon us it bore down with all its might.
We set to work and built a shed to get a little shade,
from timber and of spinefex, our makeshift home was made.
We built two bushman’s hammocks out of wheat bags and some poles,
to try and dodge the scorpions when they emerged from holes.
Big spiders and giant centipedes were also there at night,
to join the other creatures in the shadows of the light.
We set to work with willingness and started on the shaft,
a week or two at most we thought would end this tiring graft.
By then we’d find the mother lode and we’d be set for life,
we’d flog it to a company, and save a lot of strife.
While lying in our bunks at night we’d muse of times ahead,
with money rolling in, we’d find some Sheila’s and get wed.
It’s time us blokes had settled down and got a decent gig,
but looking in the mirror, we may need to hit it big.
As days turned into weeks and no bonanza yet in sight,
our confidence was slipping; not so sure we’d got this right.
Although we still had traces, and the colour looked quite nice,
we guessed the time had now arrived, to seek expert advice.
We headed for the nearest town a hundred miles away,
across a rough and dusty track through country dull and grey.
We’re told to see old Jim; now there’s a bloke who’d have a clue,
he’d made a fortune flogging claims, and knew a thing or two.
We caught up with the old bloke at the local pub in town,
he listened on in silence with what seemed a growing frown.
His smoke stained fuzzy beard, began to bristle as we spoke,
we couldn’t help but feeling, he considered us a joke.
He was a scruffy looking chap despite his rumored wealth,
a little on the scrawny side, but in the best of health.
He grunted when we finished, we could pick him up at dawn,
and turned back to his lager, with what seemed a stifled yawn.
We picked him up next morning as he set fire to his pipe,
and belched out clouds of noxious smoke that smelt a little ripe.
The pipe was old and massive and an heirloom you could tell,
you could have boiled the billy there and fried a snag as well.
We quickly opened windows to let in a little breeze,
but told to wind them up again; he’d problems with his knees.
We soon began our coughing as the cab filled up with smoke,
he didn’t bat an eyelid, though we felt we’d surely choke.
We tried to get him talking and put out his flam’en pipe,
but only got a grunt or two; he’s not the talking type.
We travelled on in silence so the trip seemed awful slow,
and we were smoked like kippers by the time we reached our show.
We waited there expectantly as he examined stones,
for soon would come the bad news, we could feel it in our bones.
We braced for disappointment; was our dream about to burst,
or was he playing games now; have us thinking of the worst.
He started pacing slowly all around our rough old mine,
then glanced up to the heavens, as though looking for a sign.
He took a few more paces, then, he stopped as though on cue,
and turned around and spat; “I wouldn’t use it for a loo”.
We packed our few belongings and soon headed on our way,
a little bit deflated, but our luck must change some day.
The girls would have to wait awhile until we’ve got some cash,
this mining games a tough one, where your hopes so often crash.
******
© T.E.Piggott June 2010
ASSESSING THE SHOW
We tried to hide excitement as we stared down at our find,
a leader showing copper was enough to blow one’s mind.
Though insignificant right now, there could be wealth below,
perhaps just hidden underground; another ‘Isa’ show.
It was a desolate spot, not a decent tree in sight,
with summer now upon us it bore down with all its might.
We set to work and built a shed to get a little shade,
from timber and of spinefex, our makeshift home was made.
We built two bushman’s hammocks out of wheat bags and some poles,
to try and dodge the scorpions when they emerged from holes.
Big spiders and giant centipedes were also there at night,
to join the other creatures in the shadows of the light.
We set to work with willingness and started on the shaft,
a week or two at most we thought would end this tiring graft.
By then we’d find the mother lode and we’d be set for life,
we’d flog it to a company, and save a lot of strife.
While lying in our bunks at night we’d muse of times ahead,
with money rolling in, we’d find some Sheila’s and get wed.
It’s time us blokes had settled down and got a decent gig,
but looking in the mirror, we may need to hit it big.
As days turned into weeks and no bonanza yet in sight,
our confidence was slipping; not so sure we’d got this right.
Although we still had traces, and the colour looked quite nice,
we guessed the time had now arrived, to seek expert advice.
We headed for the nearest town a hundred miles away,
across a rough and dusty track through country dull and grey.
We’re told to see old Jim; now there’s a bloke who’d have a clue,
he’d made a fortune flogging claims, and knew a thing or two.
We caught up with the old bloke at the local pub in town,
he listened on in silence with what seemed a growing frown.
His smoke stained fuzzy beard, began to bristle as we spoke,
we couldn’t help but feeling, he considered us a joke.
He was a scruffy looking chap despite his rumored wealth,
a little on the scrawny side, but in the best of health.
He grunted when we finished, we could pick him up at dawn,
and turned back to his lager, with what seemed a stifled yawn.
We picked him up next morning as he set fire to his pipe,
and belched out clouds of noxious smoke that smelt a little ripe.
The pipe was old and massive and an heirloom you could tell,
you could have boiled the billy there and fried a snag as well.
We quickly opened windows to let in a little breeze,
but told to wind them up again; he’d problems with his knees.
We soon began our coughing as the cab filled up with smoke,
he didn’t bat an eyelid, though we felt we’d surely choke.
We tried to get him talking and put out his flam’en pipe,
but only got a grunt or two; he’s not the talking type.
We travelled on in silence so the trip seemed awful slow,
and we were smoked like kippers by the time we reached our show.
We waited there expectantly as he examined stones,
for soon would come the bad news, we could feel it in our bones.
We braced for disappointment; was our dream about to burst,
or was he playing games now; have us thinking of the worst.
He started pacing slowly all around our rough old mine,
then glanced up to the heavens, as though looking for a sign.
He took a few more paces, then, he stopped as though on cue,
and turned around and spat; “I wouldn’t use it for a loo”.
We packed our few belongings and soon headed on our way,
a little bit deflated, but our luck must change some day.
The girls would have to wait awhile until we’ve got some cash,
this mining games a tough one, where your hopes so often crash.
******
© T.E.Piggott June 2010
