can’t put up with this much longer.
The organ’s grinding on,
putting my teeth on edge,
and the wife is crying by the bucketful.
If the rain crashes harder
I won’t have to hear this singing.
Paley’s weasled his way into the front pew,
wiping his pudgy face with a white handkerchief.
I remember him on Friday,
drunk and backslapping,
offering the shout.
I was outside under the sarsaparilla vine,
watching him buying friends at the bar,
until the girls came along
and I turned my attention to them.
The town prays to a God
who takes young girls
and welcomes the killer into his church.
Believing,
it ain’t worth a pinch of dust.
There’s a trick I learnt in the army,
on the parade ground
listening to the drill sergeant bellowing insults.
I stand straight and stare forward,
close my mind to everything,
feel my breathing steady
and try to sleep, with my eyes open.
I spent long days at the base camp
working on doing nothing but this.
It’s probably the only good thing I learnt,
along with how to roll smokes with one hand
and how to hate someone
and never show it.
Mr Butcher
Sergeant Grainger is up the back
looking for a sign, a weakness.
I dare not turn around to see him.
I stare straight ahead at the statue of Mary,
her immaculate heart,
and think of what to do.
But what I can’t get out of my mind
is the sight of blonde hair
through my fingers.
I tighten with the memory.
Of course!
There’s my answer.
I’ll pay for a mother.
My blonde friend must have a mother,
or an aunt,
anyone who’ll be Mrs Butcher
if someone rings.
Simple.
A few pounds for answering a phone call.
I hope mother is like daughter,
willing to provide a service.
Anything to get rid of Grainger.
It’s a waste of my wage though.
The money would be better spent
on soft warm silken pleasurable things.
Sally
As we follow the procession out of the church
I want to hold Eddie’s hand
but my dad is watching,
so I walk quietly beside him.
I hear his sharp intake of breath
as we see the rain falling on Colleen’s coffin.
Mr O’Connor and some miners
load the coffin into the wagon
for the short trip
around the corner to the cemetery.
We all follow in the rain.
Eddie opens an umbrella
and holds it over my head,
and instead of saying thanks,
I look at his downcast eyes
and say,
‘I love you.’
It just came out.
I looked into his eyes and saw love.
I thought I saw love,
so I mouthed the words.
The rain tumbles down
as we reach the old iron gates and file through.
Eddie’s worth more than anything to me.
So I’m glad I said it.
Eddie
It’s like the first time we kissed
beside the river
and I fled as fast as my feet could take me.
Only now,
I’m holding an umbrella
in a line of people.
There’s no escape.
I focus on the hearse up ahead
and think of Colleen
being lowered into the ground.
I’m afraid of hearing
the thump of dirt on her coffin,
and her mother wailing
while Mr O’Connor struggles
to hold himself steady.
Sally’s words dance, uninvited,
inside my head.
I move the umbrella closer to Sally,
so I can feel the drops of rain
on my face,
cooling my skin
and rolling down my cheeks.
I feel too much.
Let the rain wash it away.
Mr Carter
As the rain drenches us all
I close my eyes for a minute
and pray for my Grace
to be with the young girl
and to tell her of our thoughts,
our sorrow,
and to forgive us.
The Lord sends these things
to test our spirit,
and while we can’t make sense
or understand why,
we must believe and accept.
Mr O’Brien leans heavily on his cane
beside the grave.
As we all start to leave,
I touch his arm and say,
‘Can I walk with you, Bob?’
He was a watchmaker,
before the war, before his injury.
His workshop next to my office
rang with chimes and gongs,
and I marvelled at his dexterity,
his long fingers tinkering
with the crowded workings
of all manner of clocks and watches.
We slowly file out of
The organ’s grinding on,
putting my teeth on edge,
and the wife is crying by the bucketful.
If the rain crashes harder
I won’t have to hear this singing.
Paley’s weasled his way into the front pew,
wiping his pudgy face with a white handkerchief.
I remember him on Friday,
drunk and backslapping,
offering the shout.
I was outside under the sarsaparilla vine,
watching him buying friends at the bar,
until the girls came along
and I turned my attention to them.
The town prays to a God
who takes young girls
and welcomes the killer into his church.
Believing,
it ain’t worth a pinch of dust.
There’s a trick I learnt in the army,
on the parade ground
listening to the drill sergeant bellowing insults.
I stand straight and stare forward,
close my mind to everything,
feel my breathing steady
and try to sleep, with my eyes open.
I spent long days at the base camp
working on doing nothing but this.
It’s probably the only good thing I learnt,
along with how to roll smokes with one hand
and how to hate someone
and never show it.
Mr Butcher
Sergeant Grainger is up the back
looking for a sign, a weakness.
I dare not turn around to see him.
I stare straight ahead at the statue of Mary,
her immaculate heart,
and think of what to do.
But what I can’t get out of my mind
is the sight of blonde hair
through my fingers.
I tighten with the memory.
Of course!
There’s my answer.
I’ll pay for a mother.
My blonde friend must have a mother,
or an aunt,
anyone who’ll be Mrs Butcher
if someone rings.
Simple.
A few pounds for answering a phone call.
I hope mother is like daughter,
willing to provide a service.
Anything to get rid of Grainger.
It’s a waste of my wage though.
The money would be better spent
on soft warm silken pleasurable things.
Sally
As we follow the procession out of the church
I want to hold Eddie’s hand
but my dad is watching,
so I walk quietly beside him.
I hear his sharp intake of breath
as we see the rain falling on Colleen’s coffin.
Mr O’Connor and some miners
load the coffin into the wagon
for the short trip
around the corner to the cemetery.
We all follow in the rain.
Eddie opens an umbrella
and holds it over my head,
and instead of saying thanks,
I look at his downcast eyes
and say,
‘I love you.’
It just came out.
I looked into his eyes and saw love.
I thought I saw love,
so I mouthed the words.
The rain tumbles down
as we reach the old iron gates and file through.
Eddie’s worth more than anything to me.
So I’m glad I said it.
Eddie
It’s like the first time we kissed
beside the river
and I fled as fast as my feet could take me.
Only now,
I’m holding an umbrella
in a line of people.
There’s no escape.
I focus on the hearse up ahead
and think of Colleen
being lowered into the ground.
I’m afraid of hearing
the thump of dirt on her coffin,
and her mother wailing
while Mr O’Connor struggles
to hold himself steady.
Sally’s words dance, uninvited,
inside my head.
I move the umbrella closer to Sally,
so I can feel the drops of rain
on my face,
cooling my skin
and rolling down my cheeks.
I feel too much.
Let the rain wash it away.
Mr Carter
As the rain drenches us all
I close my eyes for a minute
and pray for my Grace
to be with the young girl
and to tell her of our thoughts,
our sorrow,
and to forgive us.
The Lord sends these things
to test our spirit,
and while we can’t make sense
or understand why,
we must believe and accept.
Mr O’Brien leans heavily on his cane
beside the grave.
As we all start to leave,
I touch his arm and say,
‘Can I walk with you, Bob?’
He was a watchmaker,
before the war, before his injury.
His workshop next to my office
rang with chimes and gongs,
and I marvelled at his dexterity,
his long fingers tinkering
with the crowded workings
of all manner of clocks and watches.
We slowly file out of
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