poem

When I was a boy
(and I'm not old yet. Times change quickly),
we needed,
in our backyard at Templestowe,
a cubby house,
an old car,
a new motor mower
and a passion fruit vine.
Some chooks,
a better toilet,
grandpa's snake killer outside the back door,
and a billy goat,
which smelt bad,
but kept mum's magnolia from getting too big!

Sometimes we wanted to swim,
so we went to the river,
or a public swimming pool,
remember them?
We shared our fun.

Today, I notice,
what everyone is taught to need,
in their own backyard,
is their own swimming pool.
Just now, from the train window,
with my own eyes,
I saw sizeable swimming pools
at five out of seven
adjacent spawning dorms.

This is a new suburb.
Big boys playing with building blocks.
Vistas of shining acqua,
all without gardens,
but clinker brick houses attached.
I wonder what we'll all need next?
Who's to tell.

My father nodded, and said,
"Remember Templestowe? . . .
. . . . tennis courts!"