THIS OLD HOUSE
This Old House
Last legs (stilts tilt)
needs paint
possums in the roof
rain
gets in sometimes but
the landlord leaves us alone.
Gutters gone
cobwebs in the corner
I don’t mind
the spiders eat the flies.
Garden’s overgrown
cats sleep in the shade,
bush-turkeys take refuge
from the neighbours.
Vines cover the verandah
you can
sit there unseen
and watch the world go by.
I drowse
in the sun
to the sound
of chickens foraging.
At night the possums
come in by the cat-door
and I feed them in the kitchen.
One tiny hand
clutches my leg,
the other delicately reaches
for the piece of banana I offer,
on its back
a solemn big eyed baby
watches the transaction.
One day I guess Development
and Progress will end this
little urban Dream-time
in a riot of bulldozers,
something ugly
will arise in brick
block by brutal block
where once were trees
and I will have to seek
another refuge for myself
in the cold, uncaring world.
But not today, my friends,
today
I sit beneath my trees
in this brief, ephemeral ease
and for this respite at least
I am grateful.
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The Reverend Hellfire is a practising Performance Poet and an ordained Minister of the Church of Spiritual Humanists AND the Church of the Universe.
There’s no fool like an old fool
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Delightful delineation of a rural retreat.
Actually, my rural retreat is an inner city feral oasis.There used to be lots of old houses like this in my suburb, but sadly we are one of the last hold-outs-the yuppies have discovered the delights of our little enclave, and are buying it up accordingly.
In the process they bulldoze most of what they liked about the area in the first place, and ugly, elcheapo unit blocks (the slums of tomorrow) are spreading like a fungal infection.
So it goes.