Liz McQuilkin: Two Poems

David   They buried him   in a spanking new graveyard between two concrete paths: a man who loved the bush nurtured native plants sowed eucalypts where he could.   Six men lowered the coffin in a hammock of ropes. Until it stuck: they had overlooked that shoulders always need the broader end of the trench.   It seemed to some of us as if he was rejecting his final resting place as if he knew somewhere better near home at Evandale.   Until the order came to raise him. They turned him round in a penitent gavotte and down…

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