This is my home

Where I sit in silence

and let the world float by

on black rivers of bitumen

that slope into the sky

This my home

Where I sit in the sun

where the wattle smells sweet

and little pups, dig little holes

with their soft little feet

This is my home

Where I sit with my wife

where the currawong’s caw

and the breeze from the mountains

rattles on my front door

This my home

Where the laptop flickers

and the emails fly in fast

and they talk to me

and they need something

and you didn’t do this right

and you need to do this now

and you have to be here

and you can’t be there

and there is no other option

and we can’t discuss this

and you just need to get this sorted

and you should have sorted this out

and you’re wrong

and you have no idea

and the single eye watches…

…always watches,

like a vulture,

waiting for me to fall onto my desk

with an exploded heart.

This is my home. I can’t escape.