Hypnotised under a blue southern sky;
I hear, the twitter of birds from the roof,
And rustle of trees in a summer breeze.
Listening, musing, reflecting, the day through.
Soon, I hear, the soft purr of an engine
As a mate, comes home, consumed with folly;
Who, happy and drunk, bellows from the street:
“If only I could win the lottery”
As his laughter fades into his town house
My mind echoes on his conversation.
Images of last night’s doco weighs in
Playing with my thoughts, my meditation.
Today is about the lucky country;
Like a billabong of long time ago
Every nation has been to this great land
Our strong diversity – is all we know.
We are a nation of freedom and choice,
Although it hasn’t always been the case
But we are growing, with education;
And patience, and respect to each other’s place.
We get to breathe the sun and the sea.
We get to dance under the Southern Cross.
We get to laugh and sing to our hearts content.
We never have to be alone, sorry or lost.
Still the helicopter tears through the blue
Like a reminder that all is not fair,
It roars from the mountains to the city
Looking for hope, faith, someone to care.
So, the question of lottery? Is this.
We exist. We dance to our own beat
Knowing tomorrow will come, safe and sound.
We got the jackpot – on humanity!
We got the word on Christmas morn,
And they told us you were gone.
Asleep, at peace, with the angels
The Silent Night, your Swan Song.
So, rest your weary head, dear uncle
your work on earth is complete.
“God is good”, you used to tell us
Now you’re sitting at his feet.
Sitting in the kitchen corner
With your cigarette and smiles.
“Oh, My” and “Exaa-ctly”
we would laugh with you awhile.
I’ll remember your red jumper
And the coat that was too big.
I’ll remember your brilliant mind,
And playful mischief with us kids.
I remember the last gift you gave
Was a box of “Indian Sweets”
We all gasped, and gave you “the look”
But were grateful for the treat.
Rest easy now, dearest uncle
Your light shines on us from above
No words can describe our sadness
Always and forever, sending our love.
Summer storms through the silly season
And I am my own fashion treason.
Asleep in my hoodie and flip flops,
Cropped leggings and blue Whovian top.
At my desk the universe lights up
But a first thing first, where’s my Garfield cup?
On my phone is a little image
So my sleepy eyes start to scrimmage.
An old photo of a time and place
Where five girls are caught in an embrace.
They look up at me from yesterday
Far. Far, away from this port side bay.
Those were the days of Pimms and flowers,
Best friends, and summer showers.
Gone are those days of dancing till dawn,
Getting drunk, waking up on the lawn.
No we’re closer to the big 3-0
Alarm clocks and coffee run the show
Dancing along the trapeze of life
As friend, worker, mother, sister, wife…
The world has spun a few times or more
Since I was last knocking at your door
But no matter how far we all roam
That time, that place, will always be home.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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