Poetry

Elegy for Old Feller

The little old bloke nose like a tomato from too much grog has vanished scrawny in his slept-in clothes he walked an even scrawnier dog past our house for years muttering at the unseen I never spoke to him except once to invite him to a neighbourly block barbeque out on the nature strip come over and have a sausage I said naw I don’t eat foreign food.   Joe Dolce

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