Gone Bush
for Cedar
I remember him sipping seeds from a plate,
porridge oats left to soak overnight,
a capsicum he brought in from the garden,
sitting like a holy man on our rooftop
overlooking the suburbs one night
long after the rest of us had gone to bed.
The geckos fasting on the yellow wall.
At a party I watched him stare
into a girl's eyes without once looking away.
They hardly said a word, barely touched.
For weeks afterwards she'd call, asking after him,
still hypnotised by his gaze.
He always told us to say he wasn't there.
I can just hear him saying that now.
Page(s) 49
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