Published 16 May 202516 May 2025 · Poetry / Friday Poetry Bluey Blood Dorothy Hewett I. Alice cut her wrists & joined the Party read The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists & Ten Days that Shook the World Japan was flattened white shadows on a wall shaping the outline of a man the dead returned yellow with atabrin The Burma Road the fuzzy-wuzzy angels the Cold War hotted up 3 years the Revolution the comrades warned her you’d better cut your hair her mother raged & she was disinherited her father said I was a redragger at 21 the Jewish Secretary was a Spanish Brigader his leather coat blazed on the Esplanade he laid her back on the desk in the District office but couldn’t get it up Never apologize he said I’m old enough to be your father. II. she lived in the ranges full of strontium 90 hitched a ride with the wheat trucks revving up the hills sold the Workers’ Star at The Railway Workshops when Bluey Blood drove in from Iron Knob his Humber Snipe was boiling he used his boilermaker’s shoulders to storm the Council Chambers bursting through the Town Hall doors like anarchists red-headed laughing she saw him there beside her they crossed The Horseshoe Bridge to little Italy shacked up in a single bed with the light bulb dangling he said I’m beginning to smell like a woman the Party members sent her to coventry outside the Chinese cafe old friends cut her dead he bought her a hock-shop ring With this ring I thee wed in true Communist marriage the Party Secretary said We have reason to believe he works for ASIO. III. she walked out of the Saturday matinees leaving behind Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story the ragged coconut palms the trolley buses sparking down Riverside Drive she was Garbo in Anna Christie meeting Garfield & Jean Gabin on the waterfront Bluey Blood bought her a ticket on The Trans-Continental they played pontoon & poker across the desert the glass dome of Central swarmed with light at Mansion House a metho-drunker raged with a cut-throat razor in the Coal Strike & the coldest Sydney winter she read The Poor Man’s Orange typed up the strike stencils in The Henry Lawson Hall & lost her baby the Control Commission told him She’s only a flash in the pan. IV. Squatting in Marriott St the rats behind the icebox mildew traced varicosed curliques on the walls embroidering bibs by the coal fire the slag exploded her first born tore her apart between the pains she read The Fortunes of Richard Mahony raw from elbow to wrist with a breech-birth boy Bluey walked down the ward a branch of almond blossom dropped on the white bed the Referendum to ban the Party was lost won lost again smoke from the illegal literature darkened the autumn air at The Pensioners’ Hall they sang The Red Flag & danced the tango the pensioners’ piss rained through the ceiling the second baby had infant eczema (he swore it wasn’t his) at The Petrov Commission Alice was called a spy the Hungarian Revolution split the Party the Revisionists slipped Krushchev’s speech through the letterbox pregnant pushing a pram under the flags & banners she marched on May Day two old men by the Moreton Bays Why don’t you go home & get married? V. at night on the back step he plucks at the ukelele his heart breaking the light touches his red hair the sun cancers flake on the backs of his hands in bed he sleeps without touching women are destroyers & you don’t want another kid! warming her fingers over the gas she types at the kitchen table Bluey walks the linoleum whispering will I kill her tonight or tomorrow? in the backyard he is burning her poems in a cut-down drum under the choko vine the children watch sucking their thumbs 9 years go up in smoke next morning she leaves without saying goodbye remembering how he’d said One day when things get tough you’ll take the kids & go back to the bourgeoisie. Image: The Horseshoe Bridge ca. 1963 Dorothy Hewett More by Dorothy Hewett › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 27 February 2026 · Friday Poetry Spring’s ember Elysha English I saw your face obscured / thirty-eight degrees / dead grass on the hill beneath the spires / when I returned the day after you left / when I returned did you decide 6 February 202610 April 2026 · CoPower Massive glacier collapse compilation vol 9 Lach Valentine we are pointing at anything / that flickers, flowers, and beats / our hearts, the trees, and the stars / all set to be slaughtered / in the Anthropocene™ we have set / as revenge for the exile