Don’t look at the rosemary on the fridge
Shelf—it will remind you of the lamb
You cooked yesterday and how you
Laughed at the notion of posting
Next Sunday’s roast Down Under.

Don’t think that staring at a television
Screen will fill the void. The Sydney
Cricket match on the afternoon sports
Bulletin will emulate the scorch
Of your dancing coal fire.

Don’t step outside to breathe the frosty air,
You might foolishly look up to the sky
And see the ethereal trail of a jumbo jet
Oblivious that it and every emigrant ship
Has carried fragments of others.

Don’t look at your young son stretched
Out, colouring his pages with crayons
—it will only remind you of your brother,
Six years your junior, of how you walked
The school route with him, his small hand in yours.