Consummatum Est

 

Even the kookaburras were sombre that morning,

their cackles dried up with the crickets,

staring at the sludge-trail that was once a creek bed.

 

and that was the end of things –

unceremonious,

like a colleague of mine,

a disillusioned citizen of this aching empire

who rolled off the electoral roll

between democratic outings

and was forgotten.

 

ⓒ 'Moth 2020-2024