Two Seats Only

I would not stop for Death.
He pulled up anyway.
An EV idled at the kerb:
two seats, window down; me and Forever.

We rolled slow as a hearse.
I silenced notifications, closed my tabs,
folded work and play, laundry-flat.

Past the school oval,
magpies patrolling the boundary,
kids orbiting a whistle;
the future running drills.
We waved from the wrong side of glass.

We passed the paddocks,
cane and cattle holding their stare,
galahs lifting like thrown confetti.
Fenceposts kept the tally.
We passed the sun, or it passed us.

Heat left the bitumen.
Cicadas cut out at once.
Dew at the verge needled ankles.
My clothes were showroom-light,
a veil against weather I hadn’t planned.

We paused at a house no longer a house.
Gum leaves ticked above it.
The ground had swollen to meet it,
roof reduced to a rumour,
eaves already swallowed.

Since then it has been months;
they weigh less than the one second
I first felt the stallions under the bonnet
lean toward what we call forever,
past jacaranda shade and storm anvils,
into the long room with no walls.

F.S.F.