Granny was light
Grandad was heavy
the rector said they were kind
the coffins were made of red wood
autumn was pinning its medal on the year
the Fitzroy River full
of yellow willow-leaves
I polished the old silver with a pair
of torn underpants and planted
some apple-trees
they looked frail
farmers were putting out white hay
ravens pecking at afterbirths
hats of diesel smoke
escaping from tractors’ exhausts
emus struggling through barbed wire fleeing
Gary suggested we fell trees
and sell fenceposts, but I turned him down
dreaming of university
clouds passed thinly
white as granite sand
tracks were grey and dry
I caught the train to Melbourne
they were buried on the volcanic hill
outside town
plain stone crosses
