Poetry
by Phil Brown
MEMORIES OF MUNGO
I remember the town sometimes:
a shabby settlement
surrounded by low hills
and hidden gorges
where the dying whispers of the ancient dead
seemed to still resound
despite the early promise
(achieved by murder and ploughing)
and many assurances
it never amounted to much
I remember looking down on it
from the top of the water tower one day
a grid of lonely streets
and sad houses punctuating the landscape -
tin-roofed weatherboard tombstones
people drifted away daily
even at that time
draining slowly and quietly, like sap
out through the rivulets of roads
which snaked through the hills
and away
when I eventually left
I remember the water tower
was the last thing I saw in the rear vision mirror
when the rest of Mungo was obscured
by the ruined, undulating pastures beyond
it looked like the last thing standing
after some terrible cataclysm
and I recalled the joke I'd heard
in the pub once: someone thinking up a new slogan
for the local tourist board:
"Die first, see Mungo later."
by Phil Brown
... and more Poetry ...
