redwing

i don’t remember what we did between dinner and sleep. sometimes your mum would cook dinner sometimes i did. onion, garlic, courgette, eggplant, bits of what’s left of the meat. spices. sometimes italian most of the times indian. seeing the huge big red kangaroos made me feel there is a god somewhere in this world. like right here. i spent mornings and afternoons bowling to gum trees. but i don’t remember what we did between dinner and sleep. sometimes you would talk to the stars, so near to our heads in the vast expanse of the australian bush, sometimes i did. the milky way was really milky. the one tree hill where i took a dump that morning. but i don’t remember what we did between dinner and sleep. sometimes you would say to me, the abc had a writing contest to prevent outback children from topping themselves, sometimes i did. many times to myself while listening to the dreamtime murmuring complaints on my sony walkman. your dad’s basic two-man tent was cheap and cold. very cold. like that mandi we took that morning. the red earth burnt the soles of our feet. it was that cold. but i don’t remember what we did between dinner and sleep. sometimes you do.

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