The Garden Seat Poem by Roger K.A. Allen

I am working in my front garden,
In the warm sun
Of a Brisbane winter's day.

The garden faces north,
To the view of passers by
And the background blur
Of a main road,
Noise a few houses away,
Anonymous cars
On a Saturday afternoon.

I am planting in peace
Breathing in the rosemary
And childhood's memories
Of garlic and roast lamb.
The basil has turned woody,
But the mint
Is lush from the drip
Of the garden tap

I ease my charges,
From small plastic tubs
They nestle in the soil
Alongside a growing family
Each one unique and fragile
But with the life force
That pushes upward,
To the waxing sun
That passes ever higher
Across the northern sky.

The solstice has passed
And the earth is warming.
The sneaky grape vine
Plays dead on its trellis.

I plant lettuce, rocket and silverbeet
Amongst the flowers and herbs
An unseemly mixture,
In a neighbourhood of manicured lawns
And middle class topiary.

A straight brick path

Leads past herbs
And ripening tomatoes
Hanging from wooden stakes.

It leads to a lone granite seat
A simple square plinth of stone
For one man.