Tug Dumbly # 40 - All the Parks

All the Parks

Little German trench mortar

squats in the geraniums

of the Deloraine RSL, Tasmania,

a century since you burped a shell,

this long snooze suits you well,

snuggled little keepsake, greyly 

dozing amongst generations

of flaming flowers, keeping 

company a wee obelisk of the

district’s dear dead dairy farmers.

In Berry lies another of your kind,

under palms in a park, sleeping

the seasons by, near a wall of

fading names that won’t keep

open their eyes. And I think of all

the cannons in all the parks in all

the towns in all the world, all the

25 pounders and Ack Acks

clambered on by kids, dripping

sweet pigeon shit and icecream.