The workshop

the air hadn’t moved since he left.
and everything was in the same place,
since the last time he put his spanner down.
nothing shifted from the work bench,
or the shelves,
or concrete ground,
and all the boxes labelled,
with his capital letter handwriting.
i remembered watching him,
use that angle grinder,
standing back out of harm’s way.
the kabana hanging up,
our treat that he would snap off,
a piece each to share.
the recycled cat food tins and Vegemite jars,
he used to hold his nails and bolts.
his grey dust coat hanging on a wire hanger,
all these pieces of him,
which will be packed away,
or thrown away,
soon,
and then another little part of him disappears,
forever.

photo by engin-akyurt