first bus to Marysville

Back to: Surviving the Devil: A Song of Fire
Poem #8 from the ‘Surviving the Devil’ collection (unpublished)

it’s been a slow ride
on the bus

we’re coming into town at last

that’s where Julia lived
poor girl
with her kiddies
and Ken
the sheep and a dog

look around
there’s no life
beneath the forest of charcoal sticks
we were so proud of

that grey powder was grass
and our garden dirt

we might as well be on the moon

I can’t see my home
through the Army boys and girls
can’t picture that we used to live
where forensics are sifting ash
and melted iron

and it’s impossible
to think
above the sounds in the bus
keening all around me

but I hear well enough
the crying of the breeze
rattling bare branches

I’m shivering

take me back down the hill
to the tents
I can’t bear to look

take me out of this grave
that used to be Marysville

take me away
I’ve seen it all

© Frank Prem, 2010

To Poem #9: the strength of a truckie

3 thoughts on “first bus to Marysville

    • Thank you Wildchild.

      I’m not much of a blogger and not all that savvy about making things hum online, so I’ve only belatedly realised that I could and should have put in a link to some description of Marysville that can be accessed online. I’ve fixed that now with a Wikipedia link.

      I’ll try to make sure I do it in future to help anyone interested to explore beyond the confines of my poem.



      Liked by 1 person

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