MAYHEM - Issue Four

> Download Kimberley Road

Jack Kennedy

Kimberley Road

I remember
the front yard of Kimberley Road
hedged by blackbird-filled feijoa trees
tyre swinging from the old oak
dents in the soft earth by the vege-patch,
dents that could only be filled by your gentle, gardening knees.
You shouted at me,
once,
when you caught me throwing guavas
at the neighbours over the fence.
And then we made jam.

I remember
the first time I heard you swear,
we were playing poker
drinking whiskey to the wee hours of the morning
and listening to Van Morrison
in a shed with more leaks than windows.
You told me stories
of when you were my age
Young dumb and full of come;
Gran was the hottest piece of ass in town.
Your words not mine.

I remember
the polished wooden pillars,
walking proud by your side
Heavy casket,
ivory in my quivering grip
wishing
for your hand.
Choke back tears,
save face.
You wouldn’t want to see me like this.
Be brave.

I remember
the cold porcelain bowl
cut into my cheek
burnt salt sting,
throat in a vice grip.
Asparagus rolls aren’t so nice
          the second time around
this isn’t the time for jokes.

I remember it all,
every time
that one song plays.

Contributor's Note
Jack Kennedy is currently in his final year of a Bachelor of Arts at the University of Waikato. When he’s not playing golf (terribly) or serving beers, he writes the occasional poem or story.