GASCOYNE:  TWO ROADS

The Minilya Road:  Night And Moon



                                                                                                                             

I remember the night, I remember the moon,                                          
                                                 I remember the roos, and the Minilya road:    

‘stop!’ you called, and I steered to the side,                                              
                                              stopped, and we tramped out into the night,

    the moon red-bellied, astride, riding, and the                                              
                                            grey-brown shadows that flooded with the

 light massing, roos that thronged in soft-furred                                         
                                                 mobs, that coursed abroad, foraging, moving  

 across, through, over the acacia shrubland,                                              
                                                moving among the wattles, among banksias,  

and the hakeas, bending to sniff, to nibble,                                              
                                                  chew, and clicking as they sought, and went,    

 as they fed: they clicked and coughed their                                              
                                                 footings, bearings, their owning, and going,     

 silvered by the moon that pulled, quickening                                            
                                                     them as it soldered them to the bosomed land:    

 ‘do you really have to go?’ I asked, and your                                            
                                                    throat worked and your lips moved but you      

 made no sound, only clutched at my hand:                                               
                                                     yes, the season was dead, the sojourn done,      

  you had your ticket and you had your journey,                                         
                                               and the time had come to turn, to travel on:  

 and we took the road again, slowly, slowly,                                             
                                               for the shadows were all about us, leaping,  

 and at the Minilya roadhouse, the coach driver                                         
                                                swallowed a burger, shook his head: ‘worst  

 night I’ve ever known for bloody roos,’ he said,                                      
                                             ‘but ya can’t stop, ya know, ya gotta keep    

on going’, and then your face at the door of the                                      
                                                coach glowing from the days of sun, and the  

  tropical night, warm, turning cool as under                                               
                                                    the fluorescent lights, next to the Shell pumps,    

 a Pepsi in hand, I watched as the Greyhound                                          
                                                   blackened towards the Nanutarra Roadhouse   

 and Onslow and Pannawonica and on to Fortescue                                
                                                  River and to Karratha and Roebourne and to  

 Hedland, to Pardoo, Bidyadanga, and on, right                                       
                                                  to the end, the bull bar slobbered with blood:  

and I pressed the pedal south, pressed the pedal                                    
                                                until I could go no further, the light too bald,  

  the route too straight: ‘you all right, mate?’                                               
                                                       a bloke asked at the backpackers’ in Geraldton:   

 ‘I’ll survive,’ I said, ‘I’ve come a long way:                                              
                                                        but I’ll catch you later for a beer or two, yeah?’     

and that, that, that was then, and then, but the                                        
                                                    way does not end, and now, even now after so  

 many roads, moons, even now when I see                                              
                                                      every month the moon rise up like your sun-filled 

  face, it pulls, and it calls, and shadows crowd                                          
                                               about me coughing as I remember the night,  

 as I remember the roos, as I remember that                                            
                                                     shrubland moon, and you, and the Minilya road  
 





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