when I grow up
I’m going be like him
run like him
be tough like
him
summer is cracking
spinifex dry
with bb guns
three towhead boys
paper targets
pegged to the rotary line
a fourth sits dejected
pounding balled right fist
against short pant thigh
he’s not big enough
mum’s told him
dad’s told him
they’ve told him once
they’ve told him
a thousand times
when he’s ten
and not before
stuff that
he knows where
the proper one is
bb whatever
it’s all good to go
that’s what dad said
to mum last week
after what happened
at the Marshall’s place
up on the big wardrobe
where the big blankets are
he gets a stool
it’s andy’s go
it’s mick’s go
it’s my go
with cicadas turning the air
to a drill
he’s out on the porch
where he can see it all
the very last moment
that moment
he will re-see later
as the final moment in
the kingdom of childhood
his cheeks pink and sheening
he was waiting for the blam
mick and andy and jo
knowing at last
it was him that done it
but the sweet clickease of the trigger
was all undone
by the violence
of the kick
and then
from where she’d been
tail twitching
dog dreaming
underneath a tree
dry gum leaves catching
in the soft of her fur
Nellie’s sudden
start stop
lifeblood yelp
the wreckage
of all things
begun
