remembering Bob Hawke

It is election night

Dad and I are watching the results

Witnessing the landslide victory and

17 conservative years ending


Mums not interested in politics, distracted

While I’m enraptured by dad’s enthusiasm

“You beaut! Take that Fraser!”

He taunts the TV


This youngest son of a Footscray wharfie

Can’t believe his luck

In our late-night lounge room arena

Filled with cigarette fog and VB spray


I can’t believe they haven’t told me

It’s past my bed time

I fight sleep, stay still in the corduroy bean bag

Dad’s wide eyed 12-year-old political prodigy


“Jesus!” – the powers gone out.

Darkened homes, silent screens

Can’t stop this victory as

Dad jumps up


“Don’t worry Sam!”

He’s pretty sure it is a right-wing conspiracy

But Revolutionaries to the end, we light candles

And listen to the results on the battery powered radio


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