UNTIL THE STRIKING STOPS
Nasturtiums scramble along fence rails
through days barely warmed
by flame kissing petals
among pond green leaves.
Cries of skateboarding children
edge between raucous calls
of little wattlebirds immersed in pollen.
the altercation of neighbours
loading their four wheel drive with an esky
is a mere sandal slap between
the whir of flying birds
and silence of a disappearing cat,
cautious behind a gate
half open in the warm wind.
The town hall clock strikes
drowning the distant bark of a dog,
scattering leaves along a back lane.
My ears hold sound until the striking stops.