It was a summer of stinking heat, hell-fire days,
nothing predictable but the violence of time
whistling throu a sou’ westerly, the dragon lizard
scampering to underbrush from crops of dry lawn.
Boxes in every half-filled room, masking-tape rolls,
anarchic cockroaches slewing between floorboards.
I learnt how to correct grey hair roots, presbyopia,
leaking showers. The marriage laws defied me.
Then one tradie after another, phone calls, texts.
In my alacrity, I’d confuse their names, driving
from Canada Bay to Lidcome, Ikea to Parramatta Road
for blackbutt, bamboo, terracotta. Scott from Prospect
gave a quote I accepted for all the drop sheets, all
the brawn and Epoxy sealant it took to keep me single.