Type
Poetry
Category
Writing

A dream of 1943

They have no wish to
hide themselves;
they’re happy in their work.

One I see, fresh out from town,
is slick with soap and
splashed Cologne.

The others rub him on the ears
(it’s all in monochrome)
tousling his hair and joking

men and women both,
the female faces round as plates,
the men more horse-like

in their features.
I’m free, it seems, to walk around.
The slaughter is industrial

and on the other side of sound.

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.

Geoff Page is a Canberra-based poet. His most recent works include Agnostic Skies (Five Islands Press), Seriatim (Salt) and 60 Classic Australian Poems (UNSW Press).

More by