I swing down Byangum
Road,
swooping around the hilly bends
swooping around the hilly bends
which are now familiar.
Can it be so long
already
I’ve lived this side
of town?
My friend’s new house,
eight minutes away,
is at the top of a
hill
in a quiet cul-de-sac
lined by tranquil
trees.
I don’t drive down
to park in her garage.
The next door
neighbour
is getting new
furniture in.
There wouldn’t be room.
I pass her driveway,
turn
in the wide end of the
street
where the school yard
begins,
deserted on Saturday
afternoon,
come back to stop by
her fence.
Later, when she sees
me out,
the slim old man, her
neighbour,
comes across to greet
me, hesitates.
“Have I met you?’ he
says.
I explain briskly,
smiling.
I drive home by
Riverview.
A bright, slender,
yellow gorse
interrupts the
evergreens.
She texts me, “What
did you think?
Should I be setting
boundaries?”
I tell her, ”He was
confused.
I remember my Dad like
that
in the very early
stages.”
I arrive at the top of
my own hill,
my own tree-lined
cul-de-sac.
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