I.
An email comes
My heartbeat accelerates

Is it him…Is it not
Could it be?

A sigh
A click
A delete

It is not.

II.
An email comes
My eyelids flicker

Please be him
Let it be

Another sigh
Another click
Another delete

It is not.

III.
An email comes
My heartbeat barely increases

It won’t be him
It can’t be him

I sigh
I click
I delete

It is not

IV.
An email comes
My eyelids barely twitched

He won’t write
He never does

No sigh
No click
No delete

It is not

But it matters not
Anymore.

We were still living
Around the bend
And up the hill
From Kouranga.

I set out for my walk
Alone in the late afternoon
Loving as always
The various trees along the road
Their different tones and colours,
The calls of high birds
And glimpses of gullies.

I crossed the causeway.
The water was low.
I could see the rocks
Underlying the shallow flow.

Up the rise where once
A red-bellied black
Lay coiled in the sun
In the middle of the road
And I turned sharply
Before coming up too close.
They are so fast and so deadly.

No snake today.
I go on down the dip
Before the road straightens
By the turn-off to the Hermitage.

This day a group of men
Sits at the roadside
Wiping their faces and necks
And taking a drink.
Neighbours, members of the Land Council,
They’ve been clearing noxious weeds
All day along the creek.

I know them all. Good men.
But I’m suddenly shy.
I turn before I come near
And walk back the other way.

I can date this by other events to 8 or 9 years ago – and I can no longer be certain I’ve accurately remembered all the details of the topography! I don’t think that matters to the poem, though. In fact I deliberately made some details vague, so readers could transpose it to their own localities, at least within Australia. (The red-bellied black does locate it by country.)

I am concerned about a couple of other things which may or may not be poetic flaws, so I would be interested and grateful if you-all could tell me if you encounter any problems with this piece.

“Some Assembly Required.”
Three words, which in reality state:
“You should have hired a contractor.”
I meant to get to this a few weeks ago,
but being stashed in the workshop
this gift was out of sight and out of mind
as the season’s frantic schedule unfolded.
Now it is after eleven on Christmas eve,
And all the stores are closed,
and the contractors, snuggly in bed.
and I, with bleary eyes, aching,
am toiling alone in the workshop,
with christmas music on the radio.
I am surrounded by miniature
window frames, banisters, furniture,
and gingerbread, all strewn
haphazzardly on every available surface.
Tossed to the side are the instructions
written by a chinaman who knows less English
than the first-grader who will recieve this…
this… they say it is a doll house.
Thank goodness I am not doing a bike as well.