The Simple Gift

  above my head.

  I hear the chirp of

  young birds after a feed

  and I stand, walk to the shed,

  unlock the door,

  push the cobwebs away,

  and I roll out the old mower

  and go rummaging

  for some two-stroke,

  ready to work.

  The neighbours

  The house next door

  has new owners

  and when they saw me

  mowing

  they came to the fence

  to ask questions,

  so many questions.

  I told them

  I owned this house

  but lived elsewhere

  and I’d just rented it out

  to a young lad,

  a friend of the family,

  and he was moving in soon

  and he’d keep this grass mown

  and look after the place

  for me,

  an old man

  with a house

  too big for him.

  That seemed to please them,

  they stopped asking questions

  and talked about

  the weather instead.

  I went back to mowing.

  I wasn’t any good with neighbours

  and I wondered if

  I ever will be.

  War

  Today in History

  in Room 652

  I looked out the window

  and saw Billy

  sitting across the road

  with his head in his hands.

  I wanted to rush out

  cross the road

  and hug him

  right there in the park

  opposite my school

  and we could walk

  to his carriage

  and make love

  while Petra and Kate

  and the rest of this class

  learn about the Vietnam War.

  Billy and I could make love

  not war

  and Billy looked so sad.

  I wanted so much

  to flee History

  and the murderous armies

  and Mr Hawkins

  handing out

  homework sheets

  that gave me more work

  to keep me away from

  Billy and freedom

  and I felt like

  a prisoner of war

  here in Room 652

  while Billy

  sat in the park

  with his head in his hands.

  Not moving

  All morning

  I sat outside Bendarat Grammar

  hoping to see Caitlin,

  wishing she’d walk through

  those big iron gates

  and we could run away

  from Bendarat

  and cops

  and nosy welfare officers

  who call you by your first name

  after every sentence,

  ‘So where are you living, Billy?’

  ‘Do you have enough food, Billy?’

  ‘Do you want to go back to school, Billy?’

  ‘I’m only here to help, Billy.’

  All morning

  I sat in the dull sunshine

  waiting for something to happen.

  I thought about Old Bill

  and what he said.

  I guessed he was going to

  give me the last of his money

  from the cannery work,

  and a map of Australia,

  and tell me which train

  to jump on to get out of town

  before four this afternoon

  like I’m some dangerous cowboy

  being run out of town by the sheriff.

  All morning

  I thought of Caitlin

  and I thought of leaving

  and

  all morning

  I sat opposite the school

  not moving,

  not moving a muscle.

  Old Bill’s suit and tie

  Before meeting Billy

  I went to the Salvation Army shop.

  I bought a clean shirt

  and trousers

  and a tie.

  I packed my old clothes

  in a plastic bag

  and walked out

  a businessman

  ready to impress the world.

  Near

  Everything took longer

  than I thought,

  mowing the grass,

  buying clothes,

  paying the electricity deposit,

  so I walked quickly,

  with my plan getting clearer,

  sure I was doing

  the only thing I could,

  sure it was right

  because

  it was the only way

  for him to stay in Bendarat

  near Caitlin.

  I was exhausted

  when I turned the corner

  and saw Billy

  sitting against a wall

  with his bag

  and his troubled grin,

  but

  when I saw him

  I felt something

  I hadn’t felt in

  many years.

  I felt pride.

  All that knowledge

  I wasn’t always a hobo.

  I worked in town.

  I dressed neatly in suit and tie.

  I understood the law.

  I earned a lot of money

  knowing stupid rules and regulations

  and I’d studied for years

  to make sure those rules

  were enforced

  when someone came to me for help.

  But all that knowledge

  and all that training

  couldn’t stop a young

  beautiful child from

  falling out of a tree,

  or a wife from driving

  a car too drunk to care.

  All that knowledge

  couldn’t stop a man

  from drinking to forget

  to forget the life

  with the suit and tie

  in his office in town.

  But today

  the knowledge

  that hasn’t been used

  in five years

  could come up

  with a solution

  to where a sixteen-year-old boy

  could live,

  and what his legal rights were,

  so all that knowledge

  is finally worth something,

  finally.

  Old and young

  I told Billy

  I wanted to buy him a coffee

  to pay him back,

  you know,

  for every morning coffee

  and breakfast.

  He didn’t want to come.

  He wanted to see Caitlin

  and tell her his problem.

  I told Billy

  to sit, and enjoy his coffee,

  as the waitress brought

  two cups of steaming brew.

  Billy looked out the window

  and I saw the first signs of defeat

  in his young eyes.

  I know how it looks,

  and I knew, right then,

  I’d made the right decision

  and I told him

&nbsp
; my plan

  without stopping,

  my plan.

  Old Bill’s plan

  It’s so simple.

  Billy lives in Wellington Road, alone.

  We’ll tell the welfare I live there too.

  I’m a family friend helping Billy out.

  We’ll talk about

  the drunken dangerous angry father.

  Billy looking for work

  or considering returning to school.

  Welfare people like that talk.

  We’ll mention our work at the cannery.

  We’ll talk about how I can help Billy

  with the cost of living in such a big home.

  We’ll talk nonstop.

  We won’t let welfare talk

  their welfare bullshit.

  We’ll say everything’s taken care of

  and we’ll prove it.

  And we’ll leave that office,

  go straight to Wellington Road

  and let Billy start his new life

  in a house that needs a new life,

  happier than the old one.

  Billy

  I held the keys

  to Wellington Road

  as Old Bill talked

  and tried to convince me

  and himself

  that we could fool the

  welfare worker and the cops.

  I listened to Old Bill

  and knew we could do it

  but

  as I listened

  I knew that I’d never

  never in my life

  feel sadder

  than I did right then

  because

  I knew

  that Old Bill was giving me

  more than these keys I held.

  And as I held these keys

  I wasn’t sure

  whether taking them

  meant Old Bill

  had a new life too

  or if taking them meant

  he now had nothing,

  nothing at all to hold.

  I held the keys

  and I listened to Old Bill

  and I tried to read

  between the lines

  holding someone’s past

  in my dirty hands.

  Caitlin

  I rushed out of school

  but Billy had gone

  so I went to his carriage

  and knocked.

  He wasn’t there

  and I thought of him

  outside school

  looking so lonely.

  I knew something was wrong.

  I walked home

  making plans

  to finish at McDonald’s

  tonight

  and return to his carriage

  with two apple pies

  and some coffee,

  eager to listen.

  Liars

  Luckily

  the old cop didn’t stay.

  He introduced Old Bill and me

  to Brent Stevens, the welfare worker

  who took us into his office

  and asked us lots of questions,

  ‘Billy this, Billy that’.

  And Old Bill

  told him our story,

  and I’ve got to admit

  Old Bill is one hell of a good liar!

  When I asked him later

  how he lied so well,

  he laughed aloud,

  and said he used to do it for a living.

  I don’t know if Mr Stevens

  believed us or not,

  but I knew

  he couldn’t do a thing about it.

  I was eighteen.

  I was living with a responsible adult

  in a normal house,

  and I planned to go back to school.

  All lies,

  but believable lies.

  We shook hands with Mr Stevens

  and he wished me luck

  when I knew

  I had so much already.

  Old Bill and I walked out

  into bright afternoon sunshine.

  Celebrating

  I hugged Old Bill

  like I’ve never hugged

  a man before

  sure that he’d saved my life.

  I hugged him in Main Street

  with the office workers walking by,

  and the shopkeepers staring,

  and the two old ladies at the bus stop

  watching the big grey-haired man

  wrap his arms around the teenager

  and I thanked him once

  and thanked him a hundred times.

  I shouldered my bag

  and we walked up the hill

  to the better part of town

  with the neat gardens

  and orderly trees

  and brightly coloured fences

  to Wellington Road

  with the freshly mown grass

  and the swallows

  celebrating a birth

  in the nest

  above the veranda.

  Swallows

  Old Bill and I

  sat on the veranda

  watching the swallows

  swoop and play

  with a gentle breeze blowing

  through the fir trees

  along the back fence.

  Old Bill told me

  he planted those trees

  their first year here

  and he built the shed himself

  and this veranda used to have

  a gas BBQ for summer evenings,

  sipping wine and cooking steak,

  and they had a dog,

  Jerry,

  a little cockerspaniel

  who loved sausages,

  who’d leap in the air

  when Old Bill threw him a snag.

  Old Bill told me they’d

  lived here for fifteen years

  and he closed the door

  and locked it on March 2nd, 1994.

  He told me he came back

  occasionally,

  ‘To sit on the veranda

  and cry, like an old drunk’.

  I held the key in my hands.

  I knew better than to ask him inside.

  I knew he hadn’t been inside

  since that March day,

  and I wasn’t going to force the issue,

  not for my sake.

  I pocketed the key,

  said thanks, again,

  and we both walked back to town.

  I wasn’t going inside

  without Caitlin with me.

  I could wait.

  Tremor

  My hands still shake

  from the drink

  or lack of it

  so when I can

  I walk with them

  deep in my pockets

  so people won’t see

  my tremors.

  Billy and I sit on the veranda

  and I tell him

  about the BBQ

  and Jerry

  and his acrobatic tricks.

  I keep my hands

  in my pockets.

  Billy holds the key,

  returns it to his pocket,

  says thanks, again,

  and offers his strong young hand.

  We shake,

  and my hand in his

  stops trembling

  for a moment.

  Loc
ks and keys

  It’s been too long

  since I’ve seen Caitlin

  and I say sorry

  as soon as I walk

  into McDonald’s

  and she smiles

  even though she’s mopping!

  I order a lemonade

  and sit upstairs.

  I’ve got so much to tell her

  and I don’t know how.

  A house seems so …

  so …

  so adult,

  even though

  it’s only for a short time

  until the welfare

  are off my track

  and I can decide

  what I really want to do

  here in Bendarat.

  Caitlin and the key

  Billy told me last night

  to meet him here

  on the corner of Wellington and Jamison

  after school.

  I feel very silly

  here on the corner

  in my school uniform

  with an umbrella

  as the rain tumbles down.

  And of course Billy walks towards me,

  wet and grinning like a madman.

  We kiss, and he takes my hand

  and leads me down Wellington Road,

  a long way from his train carriage.

  I ask question after question

  but I can tell

  it’s a surprise

  and he doesn’t want to tell me,

  he wants to show me.

  So I hold my impatience

  and he leads me

  into the driveway

  of a beautiful white timber house

  with an old shed

  and a huge backyard

  of trees – wattles and firs –

  and one of those homemade bird feeders

  on a pole near the fence,

  and there’s a king parrot

  sitting, eating some seed.

  Billy and I stand on the veranda.

  He hands me a key

  and we stand, his hand on mine,

  the key between us,

  and he tells me

  about the cops and welfare

  and Old Bill’s story

  and Old Bill’s plan

  and how they both

  sat on the veranda yesterday

  talking

  rather than taking the key