the shuffle hooves
click head-to-hide cattle
the press of mud shit
billiard eyes shunt
grunting low beams
of steaming semis

under mire ratchet
of gurking yards
herd of udders hassled
down iron chutes
by breathless kelpies
not needing to bark

as a child I hear all this
a dream track to sleep
across damp paddocks
slaughter lights and cleavers
the sluice of fi lling throats
and death sheds wintering

Read the rest of Overland 243

If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue

Or subscribe and receive
four brilliant issues for a year