When the bulldozer came for our house we sewed signs into the windows that said “panegyric government perpetuating poverty” and the great machine purred there like a cat contemplating a lizard’s tail. Then a bloke yelled from the driver’s seat “What does it mean?” and we yelled back “Look it up in the dictionary!” He swatted at a fly and scratched his elbow and rubbed his forehead. He turned the machine off “You’d better get outta there” he said it like he didn’t know what else to say. Dad muttered quietly “poor bloke” and picked up the pocket Collins that Benjie used to take to school He chucked it full across the gap. It hit the yellow window frame and the bloke flinched, looked aghast, and then realised it was a dictionary. We could see him laughing - his shoulders bouncing up and down and his face splitting like fruit. Well, it looked like laughing but he didn’t climb down to pick up the small red and blue book and for the first time Dad looked nervous. “Mate, you gotta come down” the bloke had stopped laughing now. He took a water bottle from near his feet “Words aren’t gonna help anymore. Your home is toast. Sorry mate. I can’t do nothing. It’s the higher ups, you know.” “Yeah.” Dad’s voice was whisper thin. No way the bloke could’ve heard him. “Yeah. Words were never gonna help.” Dad was white as a suit collar and the bloke swigged his drink.