Feel along the wall for an opening. Din.
A helicopter lands on the hospital roof. “Then prove it.”
Rush of something.
Walk backwards in lanyards to my hill
You are there but it was never
green. You are shielding your eyes saying
“don’t look at the dark storm, stormy”.
I knock you down at a run.
The TV is flickering black and white.
I’m not what you did.
I’m not nothing happened.
I’m not the thing instead that stands before you.
I want to drive away,
But there is no key for the ignition. Hill’s on fire,
Hill’s on fire. The car won’t start.
The cyclone blew dust into the lounge.
Early ‘80s Melbourne was sepia
even then. We are humble actors.
Good, unknown but now the
1 February 2015