Night Drive, December
Driving at night merely for pleasure
is recommended at all times of year,
but early summer, here in the south,
means Christmas approaches with
all its expense and disadvantage,
over-eating and exhaustion, reunions
compulsory rather than freely chosen.
Take an hour last thing to drive out,
away from it all: north of here beyond
the streetlights, moon and stars shine down
more brightly; even the occasional
house lit up with Christmas lights
is less ludicrous than those in town,
more prompting of simplicity,
the kitschiness more easily ignored.
Beyond Hurstbridge, almost to where
the fires last February did their worst,
the dark is darkest, bush thick and alien;
then - the flickering of electric lights,
white, bright, vari-coloured, patterned,
a foolish Santa on a chimney-top,
a garage topped with glowing sleigh
and reindeer, the worn-out footling
word 'Merry' flashing at us as we pass...
Turn back, the season’s worn me out
already, lights signal only
‘the rest is dark’. At blackest Cottlesbridge,
the loneliest old house lit in white
outline floats cleanly clear as if washed
of false custom, signifying nothing
but acceptance: family and home.
Wednesday 16 December 2009
Max Richards
Doncaster, Victoria
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