by J F GARROW
They are all walking past this ute parked up outside the farm and noticing a dead
lamb alone on the tray of the ute as they walk past.
They mostly keep on walking past the ute seeing this dead lamb and wondering
about it and what killed it.
Flat on the tray, but laid with legs beneath it, as if walking, and, as if looking, with its
head ahead of it, is the dead lamb, and with its white fleece on the empty grey-steel
bed of that tray of that ute.
With dogs running around the ute, and also a horse eating not far off and chooks
about and in sight, too, the edge of a cat at the edge of a building, alive.
Flat on that tray alone, it is a christ and it is a spring,
And it is a heavy death, and it is a light death.
And they are all walking past, seeing and noticing it, alone, and not thinking about it,
and they are also thinking about it.