#131 Kevin Brophy 'The One True Teacher'

#131 ‘The one true teacher’

Here the cars float down the creeks and bump up until found

Snug between a spindly tree and some old umber termite mound.

The children kill every tiny chicklet found alive in its nest around

The bright school’s newly furnished, daily watered playground.

The crusty road goes hard again two days along after rain.

No one’s free of sickness, no one’s free of love or constant pain.

You can’t safely speak of loving mothers, fathers, family

or safety when the desert hands its crafty creatures up so easily.

The children still talk of their one true teacher named Miss Emma,

Who walked them in the bush, took them in for ice creams,

Told them love and fun were things that they could have forever.

The moon is fingernailing back its place below each scattered star.

We are falling falling towards ourselves tonight as we come to dreams.

Hear the awful murmur of the wings of that dark passing nightjar.