on the carpet at the rear of the family car
juddering engine our throats to the night sky
with mum green in the face from the dash
light long roads thrum bodies still heads
flung in stone whiplash the skirts of trees
sway left then right nothing lurid in the arbour
the bulk of our skulls tom-peeping at cauliflower
blooms of eucalypt swelling and trailing leaf calligraphy
stars clicked on and wincing at how trees
flare like a hall being passed through
Read the rest of Overland 243
If you enjoyed this piece, buy the issue
