His Tsantsas Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Placing his feet upon the desk
his eyes swept over all his treasures,
two rather large bookcases of Tasmanian oak,
a disorderly parade of volumes and journals,
some stacked precariously, threatening
to slide should the mood strike them,
two old friends from the days of war,
hump pilots they were known as and some,
the ones who did make it back in one piece,
had smuggled one or two, they did not occupy
much luggage space, he'd wondered how they had,
with jungle tools, been able to reduce
the skull itself to something of a miniature,
skin did not hang, in fact was taut, of acorn brown,
small eyes that seemed alive beneath closed lids
and would observe the world, of that he was quite sure.
On Christmas Day he felt the force, today would be
the time to say his quick and indignant good byes,
he nodded to the heads expecting nothing in return,
and as he passed the pair just stared with open eyes.