Today I crossed Victoria Bridge,
like Caesar crossing the Rubicon,
knowing it was the point of no return.
I read this on an unassuming bronze plaque:
'South Bank belongs to the people of Brisbane',
which struck the right note.
I went into a spacious art gallery
to look at paintings from the past:
'Under the Jacaranda Tree', by Richard Rivers
and landscapes by Albert Namatjira.
I went into a museum where I saw:
ouija boards for automatic writing by mediums
who received messages from the dead.
didgeridoos waiting to be blown again,
and boomerangs that did not return.
The Maritime Museum had old-world schooners,
sailing ships that had to catch the wind,
alongside luxury liners making a sea change.
I strolled through the South Bank Parklands;
On the promenade I sat down on a park bench,
near an elderly gentleman, a lifelong resident.
He reminisced about Expo '88 on South Bank.
Although we were only strangers,
we conversed easily enough.
'Well, I'd better be getting home', he said.
It was time to get back to Spring Hill.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem