Cattle fat as history watch you pass
with the blank stare of what you don’t remember,
like corrosive effects of this vast light,
the relics of a gold rush dream.

With the blank stare of what you don’t remember,
a pub, a petrol station and a store:
the relics of a gold rush dream;
something so patient you might call it peace.

A pub, a petrol station and a store.
You fill up. In the sudden quiet you hear
something so patient you might call it peace:
crickets, like an electric fence in the grass.

You fill up. In the sudden quiet you hear
these paddocks so like thoughts you travel past:
crickets like an electric fence in the grass
and straight roads, built for driving fast.