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| 'Two farmers talk in stories and bluster ...' |
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| Photo by Brendan Ryan, 2003. |
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| '...tracing the landscape by who they might have been ...' |
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| Photo by Brendan Ryan, 2003. |
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Two Farmers
talk in stories and bluster
tracing the landscape by who they might have been
before they were married, the road they farmed on
that dairy on the hill the road used to go under.
Tracing the landscape by who they might have been
the past is a list of jobs that come back to them.
That dairy on the hill the road used to go under.
Like clouds, they separate over their sons’ paddocks.
The past is a list of jobs that come back to them.
Two farmers who don’t know when to get out.
Like clouds, they separate over their sons’ paddocks
chopping thistles, wondering about a bin of super.
Two farmers who don’t know when to get out.
Nobody wants to part on unfriendly terms
chopping thistles, wondering about a bin of super.
What can you do, they won’t listen.
Nobody wants to part on unfriendly terms.
Some things you have to leave in death.
What can you do they won’t listen.
The mud around the gateway needs gravel.
Some things you have to leave in death
the broken hinge on the cool room door,
the mud around the gateway needs gravel.
They stand around staring at the ground.
The broken hinge on the cool room door
the bush thinned by who they might have been.
They stand around staring at the ground.
Two sons who need to sleep in the afternoon.
talk in stories and bluster.
Fixed 29 September, 2003
Copyright Brendan Ryan
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