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Sport 38: Winter 2010


page 215


We came out of the grass and shook hands.
This was the logic of the time. The old chap
threw his hat in the air and shot at it,
missing. One of the other fullas plucked a wood pigeon,
made a spit out of two musket barrels and propped it up
with cannon balls. Just a bit of fun eh boys?
roared the old chap, throwing an empty flagon over his shoulder.
The other fullas were getting nervous and threw grass.
Stay on boys, said the old chap down to his breeches,
we're just getting started. His white hair
had come loose at the sides so it hung to his shoulders.
I saw one fulla slide a blade from his belt and another
thumb the cock on his musket.

And that's when Jesus arrived.
I noticed him propped against a tree, his arms folded
like he was waiting for an invitation. You right there brother?
I said. For sure, for sure, he said mysteriously
clasping another fulla's shoulder like an old mate.
I've come to talk to you all, he said addressing the regiment.
Everyone dropped what they were doing
except for the one guy manning the spit.

First things first, he said, I came here to eat, and you, all,
shall be eaten. That's when someone pulled a trigger,
the ball hitting Jesus right between the eyes, dropping him
like a goat. The old chap woke up with a bang, where's the pigeon at?
We all collapsed on the ground, holding our sides with laughing.
I think someone buried Jesus. I don't know where 'cause I was tucking
into some top-grade pigeon. The body disappeared anyway,
no one talked about it. It was like Jesus was never there.