“Two days and a night”
they used to say,
from the city down south
to our little bush town
in the desert;
early Thursday morning
to late Friday night –
“Two days and a night”.
A long, slow train –
passengers and freight,
hauled by panting steam
through suburbs,
then farmland,
then the desert –
“Two days and a night”.
Tiny bush towns -
some getting stops
for mail and supplies,
maybe a passenger,
but more often for water
to keep up the steam –
“Two days and a night”.
Every so often
a ramshackle pub
provided short respite -
of a quick, cold beer,
then a frenzied gallop
as the train whistled off –
“Two days and a night”.
In our little bush town
on a Friday night
we children would wait
outside for the light
of the approaching train –
climax of our week –
“Two days and a night”.
As published in "Hello Poetry" on 30 April 2020.
