Action imprints, words evaporate

Old man, withered and grey
buys the paper every morning
and brings it to her room

just another day
of rising before the sun
softens the loneliness
pushed away,
just another rooster calling it morning,
$2.50 exchanged for the paper
at the local convenience store
with the echoed “hello how are you” – no response,

just another day,
the ute draws up, door clicks open,
but this day was not the same,
her door is closed off,
a vault on a life he married
but knew nothing about,
a coffin he is not yet welcome inside,

You weren’t called,
you never picked up,

paper drops at his feet,
the news clatters onto the pristine linoleum
trembling hands
knees shake,
can’t look a single nurse in the eye,
can’t break open a sentence,
lips jam shut, eyes glint under the probing white light

didn’t get a chance to say goodbye
she didn’t give you that privilege
and it’s no surprise,
you can only shake someone so much,
we all crack eventually,

got to read between the lines
cause we all retaliate differently
and unfortunately this retaliation was hidden beneath silent action
check the will,
check your bank account
check on those who visit often,

that’s where the key rests,
some of us take our emotional exhaustion out
on the cogs in the wheel
rather than smashing the whole vehicle to pieces

return home
in bitter silence,
the folded paper haunts the bench corner,
the chickens need feeding
the dog needs a brush
the olives need picking
the vegetables need fertilising
the garden needs watering,

just another kookaburra shaking the trees

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