I have a neighbour who battles most days,Picking the leaves off his manicured lawn.Each year, he lobbies council for the removal of these huge treesThat have the audacity to clutter his lawnWith their marvellous purple-green leavesThe trees that shade his neat and tidy home from the western sunThat filter the air he breathes, the diesel of his various trucks;that release their fragrant oils before rain, in the late afternoonCalming and comforting.
Application: denied (thankfully).The trees laugh along with the kookaburra,Laying their leaves down like snow.
Sometimes, when I look at designsFor our streets, cities, parks, suburbsI think of this older settler man,Fighting the land to make it neat and tidy.Unwittingly unstitching the systems that give us life,Colour, fragrance, texture and song.This-goes-in-that box; all in a rowOrderly, flattened and emptyReady to…
