It was noon, the town stood still
Shuddering under heat
Occasionally a truck lazed by
Carrying bony sheep
I was twelve – maybe more
Always drove the ute
Again, I parked a block away
From the copper’s coop
On the corner of the main street
A piano sat alone
The building had been razed last year
It’s future left unknown
And on the dusty sidewalks
That etched a picture grey
Stood men from every walk of life
Knowing better days
The opal had been lean that year
The rain was still to come
Lost and lonely faces sat
Swigging beer and rum
Sunday was a big event
The priest arrived that day
Having spent in quiet repent
He’d preach he knew the way
One day he said ‘I will not wed
Or birth or death attend
Until that plate puts on some weight
You’ll lose Gods only friend’
The mail-truck came but once a week
It was a local sport
Lining up in the small backroom
You’d wait, as Dot would sort
If rain had come, the mail-truck’s run
Was certain not to be
There’d be no correspondence school
We’d hit the scrub with glee
Two Athol trees stood ragged
Outside Dick Brown’s café
Lifeless under the summer’s gaze
Shading nothing, but ruddy clay
I strolled into the General Store
And bagged up all our needs
Then headed back along the track
Where stood my faithful steed
And on passing the ‘dead-centre’
That lurched through paddocks red
I pondered on my forebears
Who were more alive than dead!
So, home I go, at least I know
As I pass the boundary tree
A moment spent in this great land
Is quite enough for me
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