The Brunswick Block

The suns warms my path
A path that is well worn
Known inside and out
Walked morning dusk and dawn

The sky is blue this arvo
The traffic has slowed down
The street is nearly quiet
Almost like a small town

The quiet only takes
A moment to take a breath
Bearing down upon it
A tram wakes from its rest

Its been waiting at its stop
For the patrons to hop on
To get into the city
And join post work kick ons

They wear all different colours
But no one wears a jumper
The sun will not allow it
Tonight is of the summer

It's still a little early
It's barely five o'clock
But they are just the first
To turn their laptops off

They hop onto the tram
And its doors sleekly close
Where exactly they'll end up
I'm not sure they even know

The quiet quickly leaves me
The tram driver has hit start
The engine noise now joins me
On my familiar path

The noises they grow louder
As the tram moves forward fast
The cars waiting behind it
Are now allowed to start

I walk down my old footpath
The quiet moment's gone
Everyone is driving fast
But I choose to walk slow

Each of the passing drivers
Are undoubtedly familiar
With this path of mine
But it's unlike them to linger

The each pass by so quickly
With somewhere else to be
They may never notice
The people homes and trees

As I continue forward
And walk down along the street
The homes I pass emit
Unique types of heat

One has wild garden
Of mismatched plants and trees
A share house of uni students
Cheaply planted these

The other once hidden
Behind the shadows of a hedge
Its owners have now cut it down
They chose the light instead

I pass a pretty lawn
With well looked after grass
The small Italian lady
Gardens as I pass

And then the is the house
With three kids who have grown
They used to ride their bikes here
Now their parents are alone

I turn around the corner
And off of the main road
The quiet now returns
And park views do emerge

I can see the dogs
Walking with their owners
Excitedly approaching
The park full of many others

Next door is the fitness complex
With boxing and with yoga
The young professionals are there
Sweating with one another

Turning another corner
The streets are quietly alive
With sound of birds and people
Not the busy tram lines

Their moment is serene
It never seems to end
Their picture perfect nature strips
A sight through every lens

There are bottles on a lawn
To keep away the birds
Another house has a light post
To pretty up the burb

There is one house that smells
Every time I pass
Like terrible manure
And yet it grows no grass

This is where my dog
Inevitably will stop
To sniff their tree and pee on it
While I suffer on the spot

I rush round the last corner
Gasping for fresh air
That part of the path is picture perfect
But I don't like it there

All the while along the path
My dog will look to around
There's interest in the sky to her
The homes the trees and ground

But she cannot understand
The colours all around her
Even the shades of concrete
Tell me the stories of the neighbours 

Each different shade of concrete
A colour for each year
Solidifies the stories
Of people who lived here

I find my own initials
And my brother's too
A year as well complete our markings
They dot the local avenues

I think about the block
And how well I've come to know
Each of its trees and people
As I make my way back home