By | 16 August 2019

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.

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