right hand pointing

Base chaplain’s at my door.

Do you want to fly home

on emergency leave?

It’s Saturday morning

in Western Australia.

I’d get home just in time

to miss the funeral.

 

Still drunk from last night,

I feel sorry for myself

and grandma,

and the chaplain,

starting to sweat

in his dress uniform.

Red dust cakes his shoes.

Blowflies just beginning.

Going for the eyes and nose,

the way they do, down here.