Camp at Muggy Ridge
by David Leigh
Saturday, November 23, 2002
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The camp at Muggy Ridge
Thickness rules the afternoon, heavy, sultry, damp.
Like the oppressive wet in Queensland.
No dryness in this camp.
Quiet though the bird song be, no usual chirping found.
Rolling thunder the background noise
To another distant sound.
The train climbs through the valley slopes. It's whistle slight and scant.
One could be mistaken for thinking it's,
The ghostly horseman's chant.
Our lungs cry out for colder air, The dryness of the plain.
Each breath a triumph by it's self.
Each moment lived, a gain.
The night creeps in and with the dark, some respite may we find.
Hope proceeds the cool front's breeze,
To ease our state of mind.
The task at hand that drove us here,
will climax soon and then.
We'll all be rich beyond our dreams.
And never work again.
The signal light is set in place to halt our captive giant.
The one eyed monster in the night.
The driver breaks compliant.
The sound is heard by all of us, that blood congealing screech.
The engine throws a roar and stops.
Our mouths devoid of speech.
Quickly men, no time to waste, each had his special work.
We climbed aboard the stalling train.
With the final jerk.
The driver tied, his work mate bound, the radio taken away.
Men at the rear loaded cash.
No speaking on this day.
Silent as a ghost we were, going about our plan.
No resistance, no one, hurt.
Inside the postal van.
Into the night, the oppressive night, we vanished without trace.
Leaving only chaos now,
To take our active place.
Thickness rules the evening, heavy, moist and damp.
Glad that the job is finished.
We break our sultry camp.