Legitimated Driver

During my practical driving assessment
the officer, like a reclining father,
like a DOG licensed to be a GOD
of wheels, asks me if I need a job. The grey road,
like the question ‘So, where
are you from?’, seems strange
because I was born here.

From behind his beard and sweat-stained shirt,
like a colonial patriarch
covered with centuries
of dust, he points to a sign:
Cleaners Wanted.

Jake Dennis (Western Australia)

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