Published in Overland Issue 227 Winter 2017 · Uncategorized First home bile Allison Gallagher i am providing islands for a local land baron kept warm at night by investment properties dreaming of electric deeds the walls are not built to withstand harsh weather so i wrap myself in rental applications to prepare for the winter ahead accessorising with vestigial asbestoses herded into all these arbitrary divisions i watch your blood ache for something less ephemeral but oh, our bodies ground to dust by negative gears salaries having mostly sentimental value at this point i wonder what will become of the monoliths left towering over gentrified paradise these ultra-chic burial grounds now overpopulated by millennial skeletons crying silently into their superannuations Image: Homehome / Евгений макаров Read the rest of Overland 227 If you enjoyed this poem, buy the issue Or subscribe and receive four outstanding issues for a year Allison Gallagher Allison Gallagher is a writer from Sydney. Their debut chapbook is Parenthetical Bodies (Subbed In, 2017). Writing has appeared in Overland, Potluck, Scum Mag and Kill Your Darlings, among others. They also sing and play bass in the band Sports Bra. More by Allison Gallagher › 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 1 6 November 2026 · Friday Fiction Headland Harry Goddard He must have still been sore. I could tell from the winces he made as he scooted down the trail. Some unspoken agreement of not hitting other people’s children — and the circumstances of me not being that type of kid — spared me from the same punishment. I was taken to my parents who agreed I would have to work off the damages, and I must have mowed the lawn once, or cleaned the family car. 4 November 2026 · Film MIFF, Minotaur and the politics of maternal reception Alicia Byrnes Maternal labour is, in the terms I’ve set out here, not labour at all. Noisy, unfocused, mobile, perhaps even sleepy — it is an affront to arthouse film viewing and therefore unserious.
