On the Impending Death of My Father
Out on the front verandah
We'd share a bottle of silence
And watch a twenty-eight in the dead Jarrah tree -
Neither of us thinking of the death that was to be.
I'd produce a flask of wit
And you'd follow with a chuckle -
The low, breathy kind,
Like a 'packet-a-day' kookaburra
Just beginning to wind up.
No, not much to say,
All said in our glasses
As we sit
And wait...
For the long, quiet night.
Copyright © Allen W Trew | Year Posted 2012
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