Winter of Discontent

by Bill Walker

Out east in the leafy eastern burbs, climate change has hit the streets

the May bloom buds refuse to burst, there is no winter sweet

scattered forlornly on the footpath, scuffed leaves of gold and brown

big Jeff’s pulled out his secateurs,  just who is leaving town

perfect juicy ripened fruits can catch you by surprise

but other flowers burst into bud before your very eyes

and gardens need to be secured from magpies, bulldogs and cats

they peck and bite and scratch the plants, next thing your on the mat

thick and dreary smoky fog shrouds their Aurora, icy like a fridge

their raptor rasp no longer blasts as they cross the Tamar bridge

honeymoon gone so soon, Tassie Tigers on their tail

but hang in there, face the stare, that plan can only fail

woe; some where in a garden shed, on blocks and out of sight

out of steam, the band wagon gleam gathers starling poo, in dusty broken light

does it just need it’s rough head re-bored, does the boiler need some stokes

how can they get more forward speed while avoiding further strokes?

when once upon a ten year plan, a false dawn broke the chill

as out there from the leafy burbs  pick pockets made a kill

they gathered round and chanted, snouts gorging in the trough

but now it seems that other teams have shut the manna off.


  1. Poor old Jeff – he does smug so well but he’s very poor at distraught.

  2. Great poem about the Hawkers.

    “Big Jeff’s pulled out his secateurs”.

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