A poetic reflection on Australian culture

Words by: Ash Dowling 
Art by: Sama Harris

It tastes salty
like the ocean
like fish & chips and
the beaks of thieving gulls, bolder than the Sun.

It tastes strong and self-assured
like dancing the Nutbush with friends at a party
and calling our game football with no qualifiers
even though football is something else in other places,
sort of like thongs.

It tastes playful
like soft self-deprecation
and political caricatures in a democratic society.

It tastes wistful
like the time I spent Christmas in Europe
with a two-dimensional barbecue of blurry snags
and fragmented yarns.

It tastes bitter
like division over a date
as we grapple with our history
and how we tend to undercut those
who are a little too successful for their own good.
Don’t they know that poppies
should all be the same height?

But it is good
like working hard
like honesty
like mateship
through the early days of our harsh outback,
through wartime and pandemic and the everyday —
like giving another Aussie a Vegemite sandwich in Brussels