Last Week

I heard that people in their thousands went
to march on Parliament and make a fuss,
and thousands were at Caulfield too, I hear –
to watch the horses pounding down the track.
Excited people lined the Indy route…
and others burned another country's flags.
Across Australia people milled and churned
and did the things most people choose to do.

But while the thousands cheered or shook their fists,
I sat alone where buttercups and yams
were growing in a graveyard on a hill.
I sat and watched the orchids nod and sway;
just me and all the quiet, friendly dead.
A different song is playing in my head.