Anzac Day falls on the 25th April every year. It is, for many, the one day of the year. Alas, this year, the annual marches and commemorations have been cancelled, for reasons you can easily guess at. Sad for many, sadder still for those who derive greater meaning in their lives from precious recollection and participation. This poem is for them.


"Cancelled," he said and turned away.
The evening rush had gone,
The dregs of day collected
In the shared living room.
"What now?” to the air,
“What now?” to the empty space,
The wicker chair rattling
Asthmatic beneath him.
So things had shifted,
The known predictable world
A stash too full to comprehend-
A place less certain.
Not knowing where it ends
Is cruel as time snatches
At sight and skin,
The whorl of mind,
Spinning out to sea.
So to put away the medals,
To leave the shoes unshined
Was a kind of death,
An unravelling that slides
And slides into eternity.