As a kid I did

As a kid

I did live,

In a very small house in Wang,

Along the Sisley Avenue end.

With its large front yard

And being tree raped bare.

And at that time

On next door neighbor’s territory,

Down one end of the block

Standing still

Or swaying with a breeze,

A stately magnificent grey ghost gum,

Having withstood the test of time

From the woodsman’s axe,

All alone in a undeveloped property,

It was the home and the nest;

Of this crazy black-n-white marauder,

A magpie or Maggie no less,

For in September on a clear day,

Where every year

Was when wattle yellow blossoms bloomed,

This kid’s day did become a life of hell,

And one of complete misery,

From no less a dive-bombing

Kamikaze ‘Pie,

Who a moment ago loved to swoop?

Just above me noggin,

As my nose did a nosedive,

And my head hit the ground

With an almighty thump,

As this extremely unforgiving

Always remembering crazy Maggie

Who somehow instinctively already knew?

When I left the protection of my mother’s bosom,

And the inside of the house,

As I looked,

And then looked some more,

And nowhere to be seen at all

Or standing on a bough above,

As I stood wondering

Just where in the dickens

Is that crazy ‘Pie to be?

All waiting to swoop.

Then I would get some dutch courage,

And a dose of brave intent,

Outside I would creep,

Then a little further,

I would venture so far not trusting,

Almost twisting me neck,

In anticipating fear of an unsighted

bloody crazy bird,

And bravely would I turn me back,

Then WHACK!

Bloody crazy Maggie,

Hit me again and again with wing,

Beak and claw,

As I headed on another trip

Down to good old Mother Earth.

Today,

As I drive down Sisley Avenue once more,

Our old house has disappeared!

Vacant paddock next door;

Now housing estate and old grey ghost gum,

Now only visions in thoughts

In boyhood dreams.

And on a clear day in September;

I still duck me head,

When those yellow blossoms bloom,

In remembrance

To a crazy marauding

Protecting its young Maggies.

In remembrance of my childhood.