free now brother, from life’s headlock

joke was—we thought we held paper

those hills we once hurtled down
spoke wheels flying—look mum no hands

but we were them, they were us

now, just indignation, soon to land in

another dull season—paddocks
spilt grain—numbers that don’t align

we get up before the world strikes the sun

only our memories have changed
the waiting, the expectation, a robust year

a dry year—whatever it was, unbothered

by comprehension—kindness is all that

remains—a strange sense of waiting.