by PAULINE CLEARY
At evening, we sat
and watched the river,
moving across the bushland,
a wide brown shadow
edging towards us,
devouring all in its path
and we perched on deckchairs,
in our neat, lawned gardens
and stared over our back fences,
and made nervous jokes
about the Titanic
and when it got too dim to see,
and the night was moonless,
we climbed the stairs
to wait until, at dawn,
the stench of river mud
and faeces filled our nostrils,
and we crept down to see
the river had taken up residency
in the downstairs rooms
and was silently requesting
we vacate
so we waded
to higher ground,
with our torches, explorers
venturing into new territory,
waiting
for some sign.
– Echuca, VIC