The bloody rain’s welcome, so I suppose you
must be too, he says laconically – since you
arrived with it, a bit of good luck all round.
They shelter in the shed and sip cold beers
while it pours down with a vengeance; just a
two-stubby shower they observe. Yeah, I was
gunna drop up last week but somehow the time
got away on me again, funny that. They chew
the fat, swap hot gossip, sell a few sacred cows.
Seems the best pizza is made here on the farm
by his truly and the younger lad’s still angling
for an invite – not that it matters unduly.
Alright, so what’s the go on the gear you’ve been
keeping back. Delivered first thing tomorrow.
Bewdy. And the driver drives away having killed
that last difficult hour before knock-off with an
inspired visit, confident the world is now indeed
secure with everything in its proper place.
© 23 April 2007, I.D. Carswell
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