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He was transfixed by the landscape
They sat four of them in the forby
A trio of kangaroos pass to their right
The car comes to a halt abruptly
They leave, I stay

The lake seems almost endless
As does time
Time enough to live out here
I don’t get that often
None of us do

Homeward bound as they say
‘Capital’ to one another in the back

He ran as fast as his legs could take him
After that green Woolworth’s bag
Lungs depleted
It will be good to win our way back home

Houses for the homeless
As Ireland was won back by the Irish
Abortion made law
But surely still scandalous in private

The trio of kangaroos passed on the way in
Is passed on the way out
And all is congruent with serenity

Will I ever get back to your desk?
To write and to breathe
As breathing is in relation to reading
Music cast from the other room
Soothing all that stands between us

Flying through the arid land now
And over the rock filled road

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A Man Of His Word

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His guts churn something shocking, so he reaches for the pills and washes down a couple with a good clump of spit. The knot loosens, relief flushes. The kitchen sink is clean. Did the dishes last night. Do the dishes and wake up to a clean caravan. New man, new decisions. Sign of things to come. 

The sun chases him over the mattress until one more roll will see him face plant the floor. Been a while since it’s had a mop. Plus, imagine yelling out to the other long termers and asking to help lift him up: all six-four inches and a hundred odd kilos.