Rain in bouts and shouts
pelts and belts or it will glow
green and grey, sea spray a clear day.
We drive through town, round hill to town
down small streets and railway tracks
across kilometres of nothing
but scrag and scrub,
cliffs of coal and bracken bush.
Terse service in a worse cafe
soft sammies chips pots of tea
and coffee if we can. Drive on
next town, green signs show the way
round hill over bridge through town,
abandoned cars and branded cows,
boarded windows daggy sheep, rivers
the milky colour of discarded tea.
Surging sea seething surf
a mist of salt above battered rocks
wearing thin. Drive on.
© Saradha Koirala 2011