I drove my ute
up to Walter Baxter’s place
on Monday afternoon
and I sat on the front verandah
looking out over the town
just like Walter and I used to do
when he was alive.
I poured a beer in two glasses
and drank from them both
until the sun drifted
behind the hills.
The window frames rattled in the wind
and I told Walter
all the news I could think of:
the footy team’s win on Saturday,
the joy of the Parker’s wedding,
how the council
opens the library on Thursday nights now,
and
I told Walter
how much I miss him.
Then I went to the ute
and lifted the lawn-mower out
filled it with two-stroke
and set to work on his yard.
The evening faded
and afterwards
I had another beer
with Walter
and admired the view.