Sensory Memory

I start missing you

Days before you leave

I guess it’s a kind of sensory memory

Deep below the conscious

Mind you

I can be on my own

I’m an only child

I like my company

Potter ‘round

Make another pot of

Tea for two is when

You come home

We sit and eat breakfast

Eggs with soldier toast

Buttered well

So you get the edges

Of the things you never say

Distance has a funny way

Of slowly making you someone

That I don’t know

People ask me why

I don’t go on the road with you

I tell them

“Here’s a day in the life of a touring muso”

Early morning flight

Press all day

City through a window

Air-conditioned room

With a view

Late night

Early morning

Light creeps through the blinds

And the cat

Hungry for her breakfast

Routine keeps me sane

I’m not made

For the lonesome highway

I guess I’m never gonna be

The Joy to your Slim Dusty

But you know I’m always here

When you get home.