LAST OF HER TRIBE

by Bill Reed

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LAST OF HER TRIBE

by Bill Reed

Like, the office sent me down to get the two near-goners on tape, but what did I know about oral-lit? I thought that was a mouth wash. Anyhow, you’ll pick up the voices… old Tru’s the skinny one with the fat voice, and her mate, old Flo’s, the fat one with the fat voice too. You listen carefully, like, you might even pick up the yerck-o purple-tongued lizard thing they call Sir Billy Boy that they’ve been hiding away from the Home’s staff for years like it some sort of real King Billy, say. Bows and Smiley stickers and all. Swallows ham sandwiches whole – and rides happily away on the wheelchair from Wheelchairs-r-us that the two mad old molls beetle all over Oz on a piss-off-from-it-all round trip into the history of the Tassie tribal mob or something I’m not fathoming.
And then, like, there’s old Flo’s tears crashing down her near-goner’s old face and going to her Tru, ‘Take tea. Take tea. Take tea.’
If that’s oral-lit, it’s extinction, like. Back at the office, they can bash it, is what I say.