My father’s hands
By Daniel Browning
My ancestors had no use for metal.
Hard
Unyielding
Forged in the nuclear heat of a blistering sun
Calloused
Like my father’s hands
Apprenticed as a metalworker at 16
He was a boiler maker by trade
And blindly union
Steel was his song
He lost his voice
My grandfather was decorated in the war
His brass was Japanese shrapnel
Australia’s mineral wealth is stolen.
Leave it in the ground.
