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Pambula | William Fox | Issue 4

The kid at work reckons he's surfing

for the Easter long weekend.

He drives up, leaving late:

midway to the Merimbula gate

he pulls over with his mates,

cocooning unreservedly

in full view of the Hume.

I do not know

where urges to private space /

a white noise commode

come from,

but nothing could be more nightmare to me

than headlights

bending identical orbits

across your tent til dawn.

Are there not at least truck stops,

where the hecticness is off a bit,

processional, side on? I say.

Nah, none of that. It's actually

less noisy in the culverts

drivers chuck their thoughts into:

kilometres are way less long

when you're not conscious of them:

my life is not the storyboard

I thought it'd be, eventually, e.g.

there are vast black fields

between the lights of every town.

William Fox is a poet from Melbourne. His work has been published in various places, including Meanjin, Southerly, Island, Overland, and the Best Australian Poems series. He finished a PhD in Australian poetics at Melbourne Uni in 2007.

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