At Milking Time

I unlatch the spring gate in the earliest of light.
Cattle waddle to the yards,
mysterious shadows.

Old Johnny’s motor grunts to life, lights beaming.
His dogs, barking, chase him into the distance.
The smell of silage like wet tea leaves.

Lights illuminate the dairy.
Milk pumps cough with a burst of air,
the messy grumbling of motors.
The rotary creaks.
I put cups on to clean teats;
the sound of suction stops and starts like a shallow breath.
Pellets topple into metal bins.

Udders slack,
the cattle shamble to fresh pastures.
Day comes to life from dark and stillness.

Jordan

Edge of Shale’s River

The road is gravel,
powering over
the dance of the trees.

Closer, the grit falls away.
An edge of shale
forces its way through.

A cackle of a kooka
breaks the river’s roar.

Tarnished and thrown together,
a barbeque on the bank
in mosaics of stone,
carefully placed by the flow.

Tilly breaks my daze,
growling at logs
that crawl out of the silver depths.

Jake

Living near Simplot

Pushed against the wall,
my bed,
invisible in one darkness.
Heavy curtains block the light of a streetlamp.
Beneath the window,
the silhouette of a cluttered bookshelf.

It starts as a distant drone.
The driver grinds a gear,
the truck chugs and clambers to the factory.
Its headlamps push through the thick curtains.
Streaks of light scrape across the pale, bare walls
and move to the corners and gaps,
invading.

The full length mirror flashes,
a body of light.

Lillian