previous | next
 
 
 

From Eva Sounness: Saturday Night Dances
There is a type of man at the Saturday dances
who generally stands in the corner discussing the cricket
or football. Mt Barker, Saturday night. Cliff glances

across the room. The boys hold forth on the wickets
that just keep falling, bodyline bowling, the Don—
his next strategy. Something makes Clifford forget

his description of Bradman’s style. Is it the song
that they’re playing, or, the woman who stands there waiting
to be asked? Eva is glad for someone to lean on,

she notes that his arms are steady, although his dancing
leaves something to be desired. As they move, she weighs
his soberness against bandy legs, his shuffling

two-step, the smell of the farm on his collar. She sways.
Above their heads the song of the fiddle plays.