12 cents - with Kevin Gillam
Submitted by antipoet on Sat, 29/11/2014 - 20:02
you have this memory, aged 7 perhaps,
in the sleepout and tucked in, your brother
can taste freo in the plastic, as she burns
and spectacular gild sunsets, sand in toes
a breath away across the lino,
and you have the scene before, counting
can’t ever trip on concrete-pitted knee-high walls
painted mission brown, now mission purple
cowboys in the bricks, Dad on the piano
with the hymns for the week, and you have
