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Day Four
XI. THE GOAT ABATTOIR
9. Horses From Everywhere
"We used to do:
420 cattle a day, 2000 sheep a day, '74 the biggest year."
I think, all this was happening when I was nine.
It was happening then, & I didn't know then.
I said, "I believe it used to be a horse abattoir. What kind of horses did you kill?"
"Ex-trotters, race horses, brumbies, you name it, they were from everywhere."
I had read about it before I arrived.
33,000 horses killed a year, horses, I heard coming in, from everywhere,
their fine heads hanging down.
Blood & the piss of fear running along their legs.
"We did horses from everywhere," dark hooves on the cracked clay.
Two grass parrots skimmed the ground into the dry scrub.
Scrub so crisp you could hear a snake move.
Dad said, "I always hated Bourke, the people weren't friendly, all bastards."
He said this because there was no sign back to Bre.
"You could end up at Cunna-fucken-mulla, for all they fucken care."
The chill went down my neck, into my shoulders.
A shadow ran along the ground, until it met with night.
Goats' heads lying in the grass
& in the past, those horses that came from everywhere. |
