Poetry
Waving Goodbye (to Robin)
by CK Stead
The working port is a sheet of noisy light
across the harbour. Jen thinks she hears men’s voices
shouted above their fork-lifts, drifting
over the autumn water. Floodlit on the hill
the Museum stands to attention. Eastward
light and shadow scout’s-pace the Waterfront Drive.
Kay and I and Chris, Greg and Jenny –
today we watched good editor Dudding let down,
fruit and flowers on his plain-wood coffin,
while we sang to trees and sky those arcane ballads
he liked to croon – ‘Clementine’, ‘Yellow Bird’,
‘Cockles and Mussels’ – a life remembered, rich
in songs and daughters, books and chooks and friends,
fruit, vegies, flowers, never quite in tune.
Some shadowy tug or fishing boat chugs by
discreetly, puttering over the silky water.
Summer is always ending. Five good friends
on one veranda now, we’re looking across
to the brilliant city as if that were our past
and we at the rail, sailing out, waving goodbye.
