Stanwell Park

We’re wondering how that bike got up there, running for a train that’s one minute early, moving the fern into a shadier spot.

The daymoon looks like the bathroom’s cement wall, becomes the point of conversation between children leaving school, is relentless.

I want stronger shower pressure, her to be up before I leave, the soup option to be back on the menu.

The neighbours line their mailboxes at the bottom so the postie doesn’t have to walk up, spy on us and each other, moved down to get away from the flight path.

A man is swimming out past the heads, jokes about always ordering the same thing and then orders the same thing, takes a six-seater to himself on the last train home.

I forgot the hose was running, you didn’t grow up going barefoot outside, which rock to leave the key under.

The Queen’s Birthday is filled with clanging sun and meat, changes depending on which state you’re in, gives them time to clean the awning.

We watch someone get baptised in the creek through the kitchen window, the Foxtel that came with the internet plan, a family of deer cross the road at night.

There are people graffitiing in navy and orange along the tunnel, plans for a street Christmas party, trails you haven’t found yet that will get you places.


Image: Angelo Pantazis on Unsplash


Aurora Scott

Aurora Scott is a writer and audio producer who lives in Melbourne. Her work has been published in Seizure, Runway, and un Magazine, among others.

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