By | 1 May 2019

Gippsland, Victoria

I remember him
coming down
the hill,

a lop-sided thing,
sort of rickety
as he bumped

towards us –
from where his father
lay bloodied,

neck scythed
like pampas weed
and his mother

leaning over,
a scream choking
the muscles

in her neck,
now taut and roped
and her red

wash-day hands
still clutching
at an apron of pegs.

He passed us, unseeing
coming down
to a new hell.

This entry was posted in 91: MONSTER and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

Comments are closed.