Like the monuments to every
mortal thing that a planet without God
would require, and inscriptionless
as rage would soon weather those,
the anthills erupt on verges,
on streets, round the glaring pub,
its mango trees and sleeping-fridges,
an estuary of undergrounds,
dried cities of the flying worm.

—Les Murray, final stanza of “Contested Landscape at Forsayth,” collected in Subhuman Redneck Poems (1996)