BAD GOOD FRIDAY
The dog incarcerated in next door’s laundry whimpers, pitch perfectly. A harmonic, almost super-sonic, escapes the confines of the dog’s chamber, piercing the wall-sheets of my dwelling. A commotion of scuffles then a succession of rhythmic thuds, the dog’s tail beats against the laundry walls. ‘Shut up!’ the owner’s voice bawls from deep inside the house. More scuffles and the dog, some sort of Spaniel, resumes its melodic moan of discontent.
A waning gibbous moon illumes the black of my bedroom. In its light the writhen branches of the gum tree outside cast lunatic shadows across the wooden floor. I lie on my back in the centre of my bed, cotton sheets cool against my skin, acutely aware of the empty expanse to either side of me. Directly above my head, a rough stick ra
