My Old Neighbourhood Poem by Paul Warren

There was my father who built his house
After the Second World War Navy Service
He made the bricks, dug trenches and did it all
Raising his brood the largest family on the street

There was the Ladners next door who built as well
Putting up the house with his brother's help
And used second hand bricks and a plaster's guide
The saddest story was at 18 they lost their son to cancer

Down the street there was another Ladner the other brother
Who died young one night from a heart attack in bed
Leaving a daughter and a wife who grieved her life through
She became a hoarder keeping everything in old suitcases

The Leng's lived a couple of houses down the street
He served his war in the RAAF as ground maintenance crew
As a hard man to like and played it always hard on his son
He was up to take anything for nothing he could find

In fact he had an old chook shed of 6 inch pieces of pine
They had cost him nothing and he kept them dry his whole life
He built his house of asbestos weatherboard himself as well
Stating he would brick it up but he never did this in the end

There were other people in the street who kept to themselves
And I grew to manhood with these people every day
Now when I think of those days it is in the Australian sun
As they go about their daily grind each one as it was done.

© Paul Warren Poetry