Lemons in Boxes

Raw light shrieks hot on dark tin roofs.
Aircons rattle in overtime.
Hundreds of grand, old giants – gone.
Not many trees in gardens now,
in the tall-tree’d suburb of used to be.

Beneath an unremitting blue
chainsaws shred the air.
The faithful fruit bearers – felled.
No vegie patch or lawn for play,
instead spikey plants in strict formation
guard perfect patios and pools,
in the hills-hoist-gardens of used to be.

High walls hide mammoth houses;
subdivided blocks consumed.
Soft leafy entrances – lost.
Now beside hard-paved paths
white topiary roses totter on sticks,
in the bird-song-gardens of used to be.

But yesterday, lemons in boxes
appeared in three streets
with signs, Please take some.
Childhood memories – stirred.
fruit, vegies, rabbits and fish,
often shared along my street
in the green-tree’d-suburb, of used to be.

Brave New Street

The start of the street was an old farmhouse
a settler’s cottage its end.
On honeysuckle scented summer nights
children played on the verge,
neighbours sat to chat on low brick walls,
leaned on see-through cyclone fences,
watered lawns and waited for cool gully winds.
The street belonged to everyone and everyone to it.

The farmhouse was the first to go.
Overnight dull rendered rectangles,
capacious boxes smothered blocks of land laid bare,
towered over pragmatic, post-war austerity homes,
eclipsed in size, but not in grace,
still standing, wide veranda bungalows.
Then fortress front walls and corrugated fences,
instant dividers of lives
and unforgiving markers of mean spaces between houses,
replaced the friendly click of gates with private coded entry.

Clipped, calculated gardens, low-trimmed hedges,
ornamental pines and palms,
no place for birds to rest or nest.
Under shade sails, tough plants
stuck between rocks and pebbles
whither in the heat.
No dance of dappled light through leaves,
wash of coolness under shady trees,
season’s rhythms, nature’s music.
Residents, in bulbous SUVs, nod to nameless neighbours.
The street belongs to no one and no one belongs to it.

Pat Lee began writing poetry in 2011 and joined Friendly Street Poets in 2012. First published in the 2013 Friendly Street Poetry Reader 37, her poems have since appeared in other Friendly Street Readers, and in a number of other poetry publications both here and in New Zealand.

With Parkinson’s disease, she received an Arts SA Richard Llewellyn Arts & Disability emerging artist mentorship grant in 2014. Pat feels that in today’s consumer-driven, fast-paced world, many in society don’t connect with or even notice, the natural world around them any more. She would like her poetry to encourage otherwise.

Readers’ original and unpublished poems of up to 40 lines can be emailed, with postal address, to [email protected]. A poetry book will be awarded to each contributor.