An ode to thunder

28 October 2014

thunder your words are stuck somewhere dodging a tide where every emotion was sung with gusto & you rattled the night around kitchen tables water glasses filled with new wine healing history roses on your cheeks & thunder in your heart

Easter again the road on out a rubber rhythm closed in a bitumen kiss to the open pasture through us stringy barks & dusk dead roos & the weatherboard puff of smoke in the timber country dusk green on the verge to nibble on the beer sign main street a cannon to the highway & the damp morning army blanket gray the world dripping around yard buildings wood stacked & paths brick broken puzzles every table has an ashtray & a single beer bottle from last night & a thousand cigarettes float country dreaming the hum of a waking main street a renovated tasteful history looking for a pub in a city of lanes smoking on the street lighting up the air day break eggshell heavy stone history the street sweeps itself brush against stone high vis & hard hatted a rumbling dawn a rural shuffle sockless shorts against the cold outside the seven eleven a bent ballet to sort through a scattering of butts another taps The Age against his thigh taxi dreaming we have drawn poles strung them in Holy Week travel, sleep & don’t die shadows cast over fitted sheets beds where weariness stretches the morning light a black uniform treeless landscape magazine racks line an imagination buyers hip as tomorrow & a sun rise in her eyes a spray from the gutters through predawn shuffle a day hung on a moment to a cross suitcases & rumble a fold of timetables espresso morning fountains of light a Christmas lights tangle of roads out industry lands in the countryside a palm opens a town in the shade of the mountains drinking the night sung in the past ghosts rise out of the land strings of vines around us the wine down our throats pastures quilted hugging the coast a seaside port of Auldis & Mercs line the high street while a Liberal MP plays UNO with his family dreaming of winning from the floor he doesn’t leave a tip snake road Coorong ferry crossing the damp earth my grandfather

ARTS AND CULTURE

An ode to thunder

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