New Poetry by Linda Adair

Pulpit Hill Road 

As early darkness gathers
the silver-grey trunks of the high forest recede
taking the comforting view with them
day-tripper cars are long gone but
where the road dwindles into bush 
a set of brake lights stutter and fade

the chill of dusk seeps into the cabin
as I proceed up towards the turn bay 
pressing the door lock button
as I’d do at any city intersection 
but I am almost alone out here

houselights twinkle down the last driveway
— I so want to be home drinking — tea at least
animal voices in nocturnal struggle fly through
the slightly ajar window as I pause listening
nothing sounds human

still someone is in that station wagon 
duco palely gleaming in the moonlight 
strobed by the trunks of a stand of blackbutts
which cleave the tar and mean I must 
pass it to do a U-turn 

I select first and languidly slip the clutch
ready to do more if need be
the diesel powers easily past the trees to my left 
then I slow and swing the 4WD in a clean arc
circling the dead end, counter-clockwise

my lights penetrate the cabin of the Corolla
a woman of about 40 is settling in and looks up
fear wide in her eyes under the high beam’s glare 
I dim them but not before I notice 
the curtains on the side windows 
and meet the steady gaze of the Dingo X 
resting on their bedding near the tailgate.


- Linda Adair 2019

Linda Adair is a writer, editor and publisher based in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney. She is a Co-editor of Rochford Street Review and is the editor of Rochford Press.