By Holly Henderson
The first day back has its routine,
Lazy morning, lying around nattering about making plans that won’t happen.
Unpacking boxes of our possessions that we had locked away months before.
Restoring our things to the places they belong.
Then it’s off to the local cafe for coffee and firewood.
Our local, Dunarobba, is one of my favourite things about this place.
Dunarobba is a funny little concrete block that sits on the top of a hill,
A plastic door curtain covers the entrance.
It’s nothing special, but it also never changes,
There is always a group of men smoking with coffees at the entrance, watching beadily as everyone comes and goes.
There’s the local farmer on a horse drinking his morning cappuccino, he wears a hat that gives him an Indiana Jones edge.
The rubbish man is also there, still waiting for the date that my mum was too polite to refuse.
As we go in, everything is the same as it always is,
Coffees lined up,
We give the lotto a go, it’s a special day for it.
The others in the bar all have their pens and paper out looking at the screen of numbers,
As they change every 5 minutes,
Unsure of the numbers, we pick ten based on their personal value and none based on consideration or strategy.
The screens change, and we get none.
We win, it’s a talent to get none.
We finish our coffees,
Grab the wood and home we go,
Tomorrow we’ll be back.
It’s good to be back.