White Swans – By Nandi Chinna

In a hot December

the swans at Fremantle Railway Station

bake like clay in their nests

either side of the clock tower,

their breast feathers

inexplicably white.

Diesel fumes and dust swirl up

stain their red beaks,

settle on their backs,

tarnish their wings to nicotine yellow.

In winter storms scour them clean,

squall bursts pour off their feathers

and down the stone walls

while we run for the train

our umbrellas twisting in the wind.

Yearly daubings of white paint

transform Cygnus atratus into Cygnus olor.

Six white swans hiss mutely,

necks curved, wings raised

in a threat display

as commuters alight and depart,

glancing up at the clock in the tower

where the minute hand refuses

to chase the hour.

By Nandi Chinna