I’ve written about the ghost kangaroo of Gundaroo before, that white beast that appears suddenly beside the road just after dusk. But this time, as it’s in response to the dVerse prompt “Poetics: Exploring the Narrative Voice“, this is the story from the roo’s point of view…
When the sun sinks behind the Brindabellas
and the darkness rises from the valleys,
I rise from my bed of leaf litter
and wait for the moon to light my path.
Then through the dry eucalypt forest
my footsteps pound like a heartbeat,
harder and faster as I cross the fields
to the Gundaroo road.
Ears twitching, I hear you coming,
the engine roar and rifle crack.
I see the headlights, spotlights
and the glint of moonlight on gunmetal.
I scent your sweat, your excitement
the beer on your breath
as you get closer to where I wait
by the Gundaroo road.
And as you close on me I leap from the trees,
white fur glowing in the headlights,
as I confront you and all your kind.
I see your pupils widen in shock,
your hands jerk on the wheel
as I stand here, unmoving,
beneath the trees, on the dust
of the Gundaroo road.
I stand still, pale in the moonlight,
as the wheels spin, sending up
a plume of dust between the trees
that wait, tall, sturdy, unmovable,
to receive you with a final crunch of metal,
as you futilely fight for control
already knowing you are spinning
off the Gundaroo road.
When the night is silent and dark again
I turn away, return across the fields,
feet pounding like a slow heartbeat
to the dry eucalypt forest
and to my leaf litter bed
leaving you in your crushed metal coffin,
just another unfortunate accident
on the Gundaroo road.
