Future First

D9-al

They're calling for you

A flatbed truck pulls away
With dust-swarmed wheels

No one moves

The funereal pall
Is spared interruption
Till it dissolves

But then
At the instant of ascension
And woven into sclerophyll
A flashing thread of cockatoos
Sounds a silent mustering of
Stoops and half-nods

People begin to move
Lighted by this day
Into another

A poem by Anthony Lawrence

The Queensland Lungfish

The Queensland lungfish I carried
like a sock full of mud
from the swamp is very sick.
It squelches and burps

like a sock full of mud.
Sometimes it smiles, sometimes
it squelches and burps.
I call it Fred.

Sometimes it smiles, sometimes
it stares straight ahead, even when
I call it Fred.
I think it's going to die.

It stares straight ahead, even when
I play my guitar loud.
I think it's going to die.
I offer it mosquitoes and maggots.

I play my guitar loud
for its entertainment.
I offer it mosquitoes and maggots
even though it doesn't like them.

For its entertainment
I make faces at the glass,
even though it doesn't like them.
I don't know what to do.

I make faces at the glass,
I say, Fred! Can you hear me?
I don't know what to do.
I should have left it in the swamp.

I say, Fred! Can you hear me?
But it doesn't move.
I should have left it in the swamp.
Are you going to die soon, Fred?