he
loved currawongs
the
flaw was that he never persevered
gave
up too soon
had
no confidence
always
blamed himself
despite
what he said
they
said you have only yourself to blame
it’s
so empowering to find that out
he
was old and shy
no
good at networking
no
good at marriage and kids
no
good at much but the one task he loved
and
spent hours a day at
they
blamed him for his white male privilege
he
had no money
he
wouldn’t work
he
was lazy
could
hardly say he was starving
there’s
always someone worse off than yourself
when
the run-down farm
went up
no
one was around
and
they didn’t find his bones for ten days
it
was the currawongs that sang him home
A wonderful yarn, Robbie. His case is very well argued. Your poem is beautifully told.
ReplyDeleteOh, so moving, Robert! Beautifully composed.
ReplyDeleteThanks Rob, Efi — not sure where this one came from but seems to have worked!
ReplyDeleteThat's a ripper, what a blinder of a narrative, great story.
ReplyDeletethanks James
ReplyDelete