Great Western Highway

Images courtesy of The State Archives and Records Authority of New South Wales

Words by Joseph John Brizuela

And I wish I could be like those Fluorescent chariots of hulking metal, Legions of light thundering, descending, Dragging their claws across my asphalt heart.

But I am not passenger nor pedestrian, Nor humming engine, nor turning wheel; I am just another pothole.

And I am just another pothole, Feeling the weight of That other invisible world

As it passes over me, Remembering the centuries-long Procession of that spectral mass, Escaped convicts coming back to Their undermanned 9 AM - 5 AM

Grave-cleaning opening hours, Innumerable millennia of Unconquerable country

Scarred by incisions of Snaking asphalt.

From the distance I hear “I’m bloody starving!”

So I widen my open mouth And swallow you all

And when I spit you all back out You shall all return to the earth, Like the Sun falling With every star.

And I am just another pothole, The empty wound that eats away The dotted line that draws The frontiers of The endless asphalt country The celestial rainbow serpent Reduced to a blinding white Sputtering across this Great Western Highway.