The Last Farewell

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I thought I’d sit down with it

Knock back a few beers

Chew the cud of all those years

But I couldn’t get into it

I couldn’t be bothered

I just wanted to get out

No tears, no recriminations,

Start a new life

Go on perhaps my last adventure

A modest one but still.

The blossoms were out

And so was I.

I wasn’t over the hill

Yet.

When people down the track

Ask me, how was it?

I’ll say, read this poem.

This is how it was.

The Phrase Without Borders

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Just bear with me, the voice on the line said.

Your call is important to us.

I don’t know how many times I’ve heard this

Over the past few weeks:

Librarians, telcos, clinics, call centres

In India, Thailand.

A phrase without borders

 

I have always done as requested.

I have borne much.

There should be a medal awarded:

The O.I.P

The Order of Infinite Patience

Whose recipients would be many.

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I can imagine St. Peter

Perusing the names of the recently dead

And, on coming to mine, say,

Just bear with me. I’ll be with you in a moment

Before checking my details

& letting me through.

The Parable of the Wine

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Spent all my life looking for this, he said.

And?

It hasn’t worked out. She goes her way, does her thing. She gives me only four days a week.

Are they good days?

Yes. But I want more. Total commitment.

You like wine, don’t you?

You know I do. What’s wine got to do with it?

What’s the one wine you’ve always wanted?

Grange Hermitage, of course. It’s the best.

You ever tasted it? Bought a bottle?

No.

Ever berated a bottle of red for not being a Grange Hermitage? Ever stopped you drinking other reds?

Of course not.

Then let it go.

Let what go?

Your obsession with S. Or should I say your possession. You will never have the S you want. Enjoy the one you have. Allow yourself to be replete. From what you tell me she is a very, very good red. Stop thinking Grange Hermitage.

 

Gas Chamber

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Back and forth the fly darts across the windscreen like black thoughts inside my head, floaters before my eyes, distracting my driving. It won’t get out. I’ll fix you, I say as I pull in the driveway, wind the windows up and pump in the fly spray, the little Nazi inside me quite pleased with itself.

A Splendid Evening

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It had been a splendid evening but now, rankled by some recent memory and loosened perhaps by a little too much wine, he leaned across the table and made a cutting remark. She began to bleed almost immediately. His words raked across her wrists like a suicide attempt. She began to deflate in front of him. She had to learn not to take things so literally.

Ghost Galahs

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I want to photograph the galahs

clowning on the bare limbs

of the Norfolk pines

but the buggers won’t keep still

 

racing around like particles

inside a Hadron Collider.

Just as you line up a couple

They’d be elsewhere.

 

All I needed was a panoramic shot

But then they’d be off

Across the river, raucous as a footy crowd..

Better off snapping flowers,

blossoms.