Print

---

Roadside Memorials


These days, no matter where you drive,
round town or in the country,
it isn¹t long before your eye
gets drawn to the side of the road ­

one of those wreaths, tied maybe
to a pole, or an improvised
cross, signifying ŒHere, right here
our friend (or family member) died¹.

Sometimes grouped together, two
bedraggled wreaths or three or four ­
more than one death maybe?
or just the numerous bereaved.
 
A hand-written message you can¹t
quite read covers some piece of card ­
saying this sort of thing, no doubt:
ŒYou were our Mate, Buddy, why

why why did you have to Die?
Always in our Hearts, Buddy¹.
Other times, re-passing, your eyes
widen ­ tinselly, gaudy,

soon tattered...they¹ve been renewed!
Someone¹s come back time and again,
loyally brightening the shrine.
When will they give up and Œmove on¹?

Graves can expect an annual visit,
these maybe weekly or monthly.
It¹s as though the grieving ones
believe the souls of the dead stay
 
hovering here before finding
their way elsewhere, to...ŒHeaven¹? ­
some after-life they stubbornly
nurture continued belief in,

or rediscover when they need it.
One such shrine sported a range
of food and drink containers,
as if to sustain the lost one

in his former nosh and tipple.
One more for the road? The liquor
may have caused the crash ­ the road
to my eye carried no danger.

He failed again, Saint Christopher,
patron of pious travellers,
overworked as he always is,
he failed again to protect them.

Rounding a curve late at night
on a wet road as your car swerves,
you may think, as you don¹t quite skid:
There but for the grace of Saint Kit...

And there comes rapidly to mind
one or other sober friend
who vanished from circulation
for months, not quite killed, indeed ­

just less a write-off than his car,
which left the road in a wink
of his poor tired eyes, and damn near
broke every limb ­ and his back.

He¹ll work again and drive again,
but Lord, the expense to his pocket
and spirit. Well, he¹s moving on.
He hasn¹t become a statistic,

and his partner and children
have earned all their brownie points
by his hospital bed rather than
tying pathetic flowers to sticks.

Meanwhile, it¹s another average
day, the high-pitched ambulances
are nosing through heavy traffic
to the latest pile-up, not far
away from the previous ones.

Wednesday 12 September 2007

Max Richards

Doncaster, Victoria