buried here

He is a farmer    
his family has been on this land 80 years  
was born here in the front room    
has never moved an inch    
   
married the girl all the boys were chasing    
from the town one over    
and they stayed    
now both bent with age    
retired really    
farming in name only    
the fences shot    
and just a few head of beef being grazed  
to be able to say it’s what they do    
   
obvious he’s planned to be buried here    
probably up the side valley    
where they say their favorite horse is buried    
and more than one cattle dog come and gone    
in his lifetime    
   
he’s a little bloke    
wiry once    
now chicken-bone thin    
his farmer’s shirt hanging off him    
same size he has always bought    
and time has hollowed him from underneath it    
   
in their lounge boars heads hang mounted    
and goats, deer too    
all shot up his valley    
and a story to every one of them    
   
the carpet    
must have been new in the 60’s    
everything in the room    
new in the 60’s    
or older    
just the roof holding the house together    
boards missing on every wall    
moss grown into the framing underneath    
   
outside, everywhere about the place    
old tractors    
batteries    
cars    
fencing gear    
all rusting in to the ground    
an acre of it    
every shade of ochre    
as the earth takes it back    
   
I’m here drinking their tea    
with a stack of papers    
and the backing of the government    
to take their land    
   
nothing they can do    
the tide of progress come to wash them away    
and they are afraid    
he’s afraid    
   
all my talk about a new house for them  
the money we’ll pay    
the way it will happen;    
by agreement    
or by compulsory take    
doesn’t matter    
the outcome the same    
   
will bring my men here    
and make his farm a road    
a tunnel    
and a bridge    
right down the guts of it    
erased from memory    
built over  
built out    
   
no pretty way to say it    
no way out for him    
even if he appeals    
   
I’ve got lawyers by the bookfull    
and enough suits in the capital city    
to hit him every way the law can    
so it’s time to do the deal    
and he cries    
cos he can’t see past what’s coming    
   
for me the thing is simple    
“sell up, take the money,    
let us build you a new house    
where ever you want    
fresh carpets    
a new shed    
hell, I’ll buy you a car    
and the missus will get a new kitchen”    
   
they don’t want a new kitchen    
   
he cries again    
and I wait    
   
for me the maths is easy;    
the old road kills people every year    
and the new one will be fast    
safe    
efficient    
and when we weigh it up    
the best route is here    
up his valley    
   
we've weighed up the trees    
the fish    
the birds    
the other landowners    
the money    
the time    
'the legal situation'    
and no matter how it’s cut    
his farm    
is the right road    
   
he cries again    
old man tears    
whispers almost    
him weak with it    
   
she sits beside him on the couch    
holds him close    
her as old    
but not so bent    
I guess it was him who burned his body down    
on the land    
   
she    
still clear eyed enough to see he’s not up to it    
asks for time    
and I say “sure    
you can have time    
but I’ll be back in a week    
no change to the deal    
   
in a year I’ll have 100 men here    
and all the yellow gear  
working”    
   
I drink the last of my tea    
 
the lawyers I brought with me    
have touched none of theirs    
probably fearing poison    
   
we leave    
drive down his driveway    
   
the lawyer beside me    
makes a joke about hillbillies    
and I tell him to shut up    
“we’re here to do a job mate    
and we’re fucking over an old bloke    
to do it    
so no jokes”    
   
we drive to the airport in silence    
and in the frequent flyer lounge    
I file a report    
   
“situation being managed”    
   
I press send    
close my computer    
practice feeling nothing