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 8 May 202611 May 2026 · Nakata Brophy Prize The 2026 Nakata Brophy Prize for Young Indigenous Writers (Poetry) Editorial Team Please follow this link to enter the prize. Sponsored by Trinity College at the University of Melbourne and supporters, the Nakata Brophy Prize for Young Indigenous Writers, established in 2014 […] 7 May 20267 May 2026 · Gaming Weaponised play: are loot boxes pokies for kids? Tom Gurn In the last decade, chance mechanics have been increasingly exploited by the video game industry to attract players, including very young ones. And while the federal government is clearly aware of the risks, it really isn’t clear what the right step forward is.
