Luke Whitington: ‘Indifferent skies’

Indifferent skies

A farmer on his porch
Watching silence
And nothing happening
The paddocks of years of labour
The fences with no intentions left

The gates with no plans to close
The dark clouds came
Puffed with promise
But no consecration
Just a breeze, waking
A few creaks in timbers

You could walk about
The house paddock, the yards,
Boots sunk in expensive dust
Instead you’ll creak out of your seat
And go and make another tea.

The house echoes now
Everyone’s gone, floorboards
Groan back, memories’ ghosts flicker
Coming and going, a
Hide and seek of fading whispers
Furniture stuck in timeless poses
Outside, standing over the entrance steps

He watches the crows
Circling overhead
Cawing, cawing anyone there?
Hello? Hello? Anyone there?
On our way now, nobody there
Wings beating wing beats
Across rusted galvanised iron, then

Silence—a long, trailing flight away
No clouds to get in the way
Then further on, a wandering composite of dots
Faded suddenly like a cry
Swiped,…