Walleah
Press
Currajah
Famous
Reporter
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Farm Boys
- You can see their utes pulling
dust toward the highway
- smell the Brut, blue jeans
- pressed by their mother
- the night’s milking
shadowing their palms.
-
- You can tell by the way they
arrive
- at a decent hour
- support the bar with steady
conversation,
- add weight to the walls
- watching girls they cannot talk
to.
-
- You can tell by the way they
drink
- without getting their lips wet
- how they listen after a
handshake,
- study their boots as a woman
passes
- and five beers later, stories of
their father.
-
- You might remember them at the
hamburger van
- tall as haysheds, still
listening
- to your opinions, the note
- of your girlfriend’s car
they will memorise
- until the sound of their tyres
punishing the gravel
- becomes the night,
- driving itself home.
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