Delivery

~ For Patrick Lindsay Dowling.

Delivery.

Almost morning
But warm

This time
He is here to see a boy

The bush hums
It hisses
It clicks

The long grass ticks
It buzzes
It sweats

A dark stream meanders
Along the edge
Potters under hanging leaves
Slips over soaking branches
And bubbles at the rocks

He swims his feet in the water
He has come far
To find the boy
He has come far
To hunt the boy
To hurt the boy

He lingers
Under a river gum
Waiting
Dark damp earth
Blue dim before dawn

The sun arrives
He scurries
Through shadows
Under trees
To the house
To stay
He will not go away

Yanks the curtains closed
Opens his old bag
It wafts

Stale earth damp wood off potato morning breath
He spills the bag
Before the boy
Crisp white sheets bleed grey

The boy lies
In the dark
Shadows
Dance
Over him

They whisper
About tomorrow
Someone will frame the sky
And tell them you’re not home.