Sep 2014
We hadn’t had TV news for days
And the nights were cold and still,
The radio sound was just a haze
Of hash, from over the hill,
There wasn’t a signal for the phone
And the Internet was dead,
‘Do you think it’s just the weather, Bill?’
‘Much more than that,’ I said.
The power went off on the seventh day
I began to feel alarm,
We’d never felt quite so isolated
On our outback farm.
I drove on out to the neighbour’s spread
But they seemed to have gone away,
I thought, ‘That’s funny, it’s not like Fred,
He’s usually baling hay.’
I came back via the Rogers place,
There was nobody around,
The doors to the house were open, but
They seemed to have gone to ground.
Their cars were there but the truck was gone
And the old Toyota Ute,
I called and listened, but not a sound,
I should have been more astute.
I should have packed, and driven away
If I’d known what I know now,
But the pigs and the chickens had to be fed,
And what to do with the cow?
I couldn’t think much outside the farm
The world could fend for itself,
We lived in a tiny world of our own
And thought about nothing else.
We lit the paraffin lamps at night,
‘It’s lucky we kept them, Bill.’
I said, ‘You’re right,’ and stood on the porch,
And watched the glow on the hill.
We’d had three days of never a breeze
Like the lull before a storm,
Though the clouds glowed red in the sky at night
In shapes that were ripped and torn.
A rumble began the thirteenth day
Like a thundering from afar,
And Jacqueline turned to me to say,
‘Stop leaving the door ajar!’
She then collapsed, and covered her ears
And bent down low in her chair,
I saw that her face was smeared with tears
And all I could do was stare.
‘You know that I love you, Jacqueline,
Whatever may come to pass,
I love you more than the day before,
I just want to tell you, lass.’
It started raining at just on dusk,
Came down, and started to pour,
It raised a mist, and started to hiss
In the barley stooks by the door.
The lightning started at four a.m.
We hadn’t been able to sleep,
The sky ablaze through a purple haze
I could hear my woman weep.
I wiped the dust off the .22
That I’d kept there, under the stairs,
Loaded a fresh new magazine
And silently said my prayers.
The cow was dead in the morning, lay
Quite burned, and covered in blood,
And all the chickens were strewn about
Quite dead, they lay in the mud,
‘What does it mean,’ said Jacqueline
As she stared through the window pane,
‘I don’t want to be too hasty, love,
But I think it was acid rain.’
‘There’s nobody left but us,’ she said,
Be honest and tell me true!’
‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but
There’s something we need to do.
Pack up our clothes, and all the food,
We’d better be heading West,
If Sydney’s gone, a hydrogen bomb,
Then Melbourne would have been next.’
We’re headed on out to who knows where
And leaving the rain behind,
I hope that the cloud won’t follow us there
Though we’ll be travelling blind.
The .22 is behind the seat
In case we have need of it,
I pray to God that we’ll have it beat,
But Jacqueline’s just been sick!
David Lewis Paget
And the nights were cold and still,
The radio sound was just a haze
Of hash, from over the hill,
There wasn’t a signal for the phone
And the Internet was dead,
‘Do you think it’s just the weather, Bill?’
‘Much more than that,’ I said.
The power went off on the seventh day
I began to feel alarm,
We’d never felt quite so isolated
On our outback farm.
I drove on out to the neighbour’s spread
But they seemed to have gone away,
I thought, ‘That’s funny, it’s not like Fred,
He’s usually baling hay.’
I came back via the Rogers place,
There was nobody around,
The doors to the house were open, but
They seemed to have gone to ground.
Their cars were there but the truck was gone
And the old Toyota Ute,
I called and listened, but not a sound,
I should have been more astute.
I should have packed, and driven away
If I’d known what I know now,
But the pigs and the chickens had to be fed,
And what to do with the cow?
I couldn’t think much outside the farm
The world could fend for itself,
We lived in a tiny world of our own
And thought about nothing else.
We lit the paraffin lamps at night,
‘It’s lucky we kept them, Bill.’
I said, ‘You’re right,’ and stood on the porch,
And watched the glow on the hill.
We’d had three days of never a breeze
Like the lull before a storm,
Though the clouds glowed red in the sky at night
In shapes that were ripped and torn.
A rumble began the thirteenth day
Like a thundering from afar,
And Jacqueline turned to me to say,
‘Stop leaving the door ajar!’
She then collapsed, and covered her ears
And bent down low in her chair,
I saw that her face was smeared with tears
And all I could do was stare.
‘You know that I love you, Jacqueline,
Whatever may come to pass,
I love you more than the day before,
I just want to tell you, lass.’
It started raining at just on dusk,
Came down, and started to pour,
It raised a mist, and started to hiss
In the barley stooks by the door.
The lightning started at four a.m.
We hadn’t been able to sleep,
The sky ablaze through a purple haze
I could hear my woman weep.
I wiped the dust off the .22
That I’d kept there, under the stairs,
Loaded a fresh new magazine
And silently said my prayers.
The cow was dead in the morning, lay
Quite burned, and covered in blood,
And all the chickens were strewn about
Quite dead, they lay in the mud,
‘What does it mean,’ said Jacqueline
As she stared through the window pane,
‘I don’t want to be too hasty, love,
But I think it was acid rain.’
‘There’s nobody left but us,’ she said,
Be honest and tell me true!’
‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but
There’s something we need to do.
Pack up our clothes, and all the food,
We’d better be heading West,
If Sydney’s gone, a hydrogen bomb,
Then Melbourne would have been next.’
We’re headed on out to who knows where
And leaving the rain behind,
I hope that the cloud won’t follow us there
Though we’ll be travelling blind.
The .22 is behind the seat
In case we have need of it,
I pray to God that we’ll have it beat,
But Jacqueline’s just been sick!
David Lewis Paget
