Second Of January 2006

Drove into Moruya the pre-beach
near coastal town, place
of my parents’ retirement for fifteen years.
Their rented cottage re-occupied,
the garden no doubt not as it was
no one to fight the drought
and poor soil or indulge its subjects,
The shared grave went unvisited.
“Life is with the living” she would say,
so many are consumed by the monument,
but treat the living so appallingly.
Booked into the local pub,
had a beer at the near empty bar
spoke to the barman of my parents,
he’d not heard of them, but
knew the landlord.
An unimportant life, ordinary,
dispersed without trace,
the fate of all
quiet peaceful souls.
The highway bridged the river
straight out of town,
they’d fish and drift
it’s tidal runs.