Published in Overland Issue 213 Summer 2013 · Uncategorized Toast Larry Buttrose The smell of toast reminds me of my father, Not only because he was cremated. He made it every morning, In strips three to a slice of bread, Golden soaked with butter as a happy death. My mother was the smell of wet wool, flooring wax Down a gruel-dim hall, nail polish remover and hairspray, The Roman triumph of a Sunday roast on a tray, And over them both, the maudlin miasma of tobacco. It is said that oxygen is odourless But surely only to our human noses As we sniff our way from post to post, Ashes to ashes, toast to toast. Larry Buttrose Larry Buttrose is the author of seventeen books, including two novels and four volumes of poetry. He is also artistic director of the Katoomba Theatre Company in the Blue Mountains. More by Larry Buttrose › Overland is a not-for-profit magazine with a proud history of supporting writers, and publishing ideas and voices often excluded from other places. If you like this piece, or support Overland’s work in general, please subscribe or donate. Related articles & Essays 10 April 202610 April 2026 · open letter Open letter: RMIT staff and students oppose disciplinary action against Gemma Seymour over video opposing links to weapons ties RMIT University Staff and Students Freedom of speech and expression is absolutely vital in academic institutions. Students who engage in activism should not be punished for doing so, and discipline procedures are not there to be abused as a tool of intimidation. We call for the disciplinary process against Gemma to cease immediately. 9 April 202610 April 2026 · CoPower Against the will to engineer: Richard King’s Brave New Wild Ben Brooker The response demanded of us in the twenty-first century must operate at the level of metaphysics as well as the material, addressing our underlying assumptions about the instrumentalisation of nature and what constitutes a meaningful life in the face of technology’s relentless advance. To neglect that deeper terrain is to concede, in advance, the very ground on which our resistance to the machine must stand.
