The Reading Express
has been unveiled in the speech therapy waiting room.
As hoped, it cheers up reluctant young clients.
And after work the therapist continues her godlike work:
populating its glass-topped little world.
These figurines are from Germany, uniform teams
of this and that: humans, donkeys, chooks and dogs.
The steep stream that tumbles from one mountain
now has pairs of anglers, their black rods so slender
you need sharp eyes. Skaters circle on the factory front yard
(it purports to can fruit) while the boss gestures them away.
Train-spotters point their cameras. People visit the pharmacy,
the video shop, and the newspaper building.
A tow truck is backed up in front of a stalled car.
But everything is stalled, except for the trains.
Shepherd on the mountain, never can you muster your tiny flock.
Housewife at your clothesline, never will you get the wash in,
though caught up in a stiff wind, and snow has been falling.
Rooster on the fowl-shed, your hens are about you but
forever beyond your treading. Loving couple on the platform,
forever you miss the train you dream of eloping on.
The Reading Express powers on, overshooting the station.
Max Richards
Express Speech Therapy
Templestowe, Melbourne
11pm Wednesday 29 June 2005
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