Black Hole

by Margaret Bradstock

“Hit a new depressive low, ended up in hospital
  for a week. Slowly improving, not answering the phone….”
 
He seemed the sort of guy to travel
          the future with, the backroads, the byways
and the highways, something like tumbleweeds
gathering momentum, as each day passed,
                                  the wind warm in their hair.
They went up north to camp on his block of land,
           meet the relatives. He rode his motor-bike,
the two dogs pillion, she drove.
 
Photographs arrived, the dogs running free
                            at the foot of the mountain, him
playing drums at his local, upbeat.
When they returned, she’d keep long-distance
        love alive. COVID-19 in full play, the world
at a crossroads, not being able to visit was bad.
                       Next email they’d broken up.
 
Close down the phones, lock out the day,
conjure sleep. Maybe it was  
                                  social distancing, or perhaps
he’d just wanted a fling.




Poet biography:
Margaret Bradstock has eight published collections of poetry, including The Pomelo Tree (winner of the Wesley Michel Wright Prize)and Barnacle Rock (winner of the Woollahra Festival Award, 2014). Editor of Antipodes (2011) and Caring for Country (2017), Margaret won the Banjo Paterson Poetry Award in 2014, 2015 and 2017. Her latest collection, from Puncher & Wattmann, is Brief Garden (2019).

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