Good Fencers make Good Neighbours…

“Blue!” he calls. “Hey Blueseph!”

His arm is colourful with tattoos.

Blue has shaggy white-blonde hair

beneath a grubby cap

and less teeth than you might expect.

Slowly the foliage is torn away

and palings vanish into a huge trailer

dripping with ivy.

“Yeah, mate. I’m ‘ere.”

“Where’s the post-hole digger, mate?”

“‘S’under the pine tree. Open yer eyes, mate.”

In place of palings

emerges a taller, squarer, greener structure

clear of all the random amendments

wrought by years of plant-growth,

renovation

and careless driving.

One of them confides in me

“Some people we work for

they’re useful, you know.

Like tits on a bull.”

They all look fit

as they drag on skinny cigarettes

and suck down large bottles

of orange energy drinks.

I don’t fit in. I never will.

But I still love the vernacular

the rough, torn-off vowels

and the rich artistry of

straight-down-the-bloody-line.

It’s Aussie.

It’s no fuss.

It’s modern C.J. Dennis

building our fence.

4 thoughts on “Good Fencers make Good Neighbours…

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