murder reduced
to counting bodies
naming names
dates and days
processioning through
plagued streets
grief – a spectacle
feeding news
your life – no life – what
life – which and whose fucking life matters?
blank headlines
do not shed tears
or hear the death
of a living heart
a black woman asleep on a train
is no news is good news
until the day arrives
and she becomes
a fact of death
Penrith Station sits broken
as a grieving heart in pieces
the platform the waystation for
essentially low-paid vital workers
in the dead-days of iso-lation
we have little time for each other
and envy those slumbering at home
flannelette pyjamas sleeping in
enjoying raisin toast and warm Milo
fucking the day to Netflix and Zoom
on Penrith Station we’re in mourning
except for the Girl In Black providing life
in black boots black jeans and hoodie
black/red/yellow flag on her back
golden head-phones about to pounce
she moves raises an arm
fist clenched – ‘Hey! … Hey!’ –
Fuck That
Tony Birch is the author of Shadowboxing, Father’s Day, Blood, The Promise and Ghost River. He is currently research fellow in the Moondani Balluk Academic Centre at Victoria University.
