Poetry

Father and the Cordial Factory

(Rosebery, Tasmania) To make up for a belting he Would offer as a privilege work With him at night bottling pop in A shed for distribution round The shops and pubs in West Coast towns. But I was glad if one went off In his face tense behind a wire Mesh mask; and sitting in the back On crates that weighed the ute down to The tyres over potholes, I’d hop From star to star, until I fell, Tired out, into the dark of sleep, To be startled awake by “Can’t You lend a man a bloody hand, I didn’t…

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