I remember running through the paddocks in a thunderstorm, My four pairs of socks and gumboots, Your rough coat of black fur shining in the rain; Artillery blasting holes through the stratosphere. We ran and ran and ran and I’ve never felt so free. Crash-tackling into the grass, Wet paws and wetter arse. You nuzzling into my side, Both staring way up at the dancers in the sky Thrashing and tumbling, you and I Were monochromed matadors courting the lights – Those great rods of thunder bursting through the veil – And feeling petty and frail but happy as all hell As you breathed fire to my frozen neck And propelled us forward with that skipping tail.
Blasting through the hail.
Bonnie my love, though you can now barely move,
I see the lightning in your eyes
And I dream of us there still
Me 14, you just a pup,
Running up that hill.
And I hope you know when I hold your paw
For the final time
That, though my gum of memory
Is now missing teeth,
I will always be there with you running
Through the paddocks,
Just two joyous silhouettes stained against
Those short-lived skies.
[Do you remember when you slayed the red-belly
And I nursed your stuttering chest through recovery?
My lancelot, my knight in dark shining fur,
Sleep well my strong-headed baby
I’m sorry that I wasn’t there.]
Our bodies dancing along the orange jasmine leaves
In the soft spring showers.
Molecular attraction plus surface tension
Beads our hearts together
In some new splendid invention.
This love weighs a little more than a feather
– Anubis sees right through us –
The heavier our mass the further it slides us
Down the valleyed tongue and into unforever.
Empty, vacuous and covetous creatures
We cling onto each other as we fall the three meters,
Hit the bricks, blur our boundaries until we’ve lost all dimension –
Just some general wetness.
A shimmer the sun’s morning rays eat for breakfast.
Suspends us into the thinnest of vapours.
Abducts us with tractor beams and electromagnetic lasers
Into great big clouds, bloated with boom-and-bust schemes
Though our trickle down would be no neoliberal dream.
Some may see us as Sisyphus but
I’d see us clearest as
Pleasantly swaying in Samsara.
There’d be no-one to separate us from our labour when
We’d live for the falling, surrender our spirits
And hold fast to our neighbour.
I still have footage of a bucks party for a marriage that has long-since fallen apart. I was supposed to edit it into a coherent video for the friends and family to gawk at. It was a bright sunny day. The blind-folded, machete-wielding fruit ninja; the henna tattoos, leaving messages for the bride; running through a hedge maze nude, chased by men with ping pong paddles; charging at bulls through the paddocks, running for your life as they pursued you back; shocking your genitals on an electric fence; wearing an adult diaper and sprinting through town praying that as few people who knew you as possible were lining the streets; and getting prank-arrested by some too-eager-to-assist officers in the evening. I must admit, it would’ve been a fun video. One for the ages.
But we’re no longer brothers and my duty as memory-keeper has fallen out of recollection from all parties, I can imagine. All parties except for me. I’m worried that if I press play on one of these juvenile clips I’ll start crying, let alone assemble it into a collected form. It is fragments, collected on my hard-drive alone, of a day that no longer seems to exist. The day of preparation. It’s purpose is moot. Preparing for what? The fruits are long-rotted, the branches all tinder, so what use is one scattered root?
If my hard-drive were to fail – a not insignificant concern as my ancient laptop’s wheezing has grown more and more asthmatic – then it seems this event would be wiped from the face of the earth. Maybe one of your mates would remember a moment to himself one day but who would he mention it to? What purpose does the day hold other than a reminder of what is gone? What more is it for me than a duty I couldn’t fulfil? A job I couldn’t be bothered to complete until the very crust of the planet on which that memory inhabited had crumbled to dust.