Thoughts While Waiting for a Pizza in New Farm
Sometimes you wonder: what used to be here?
Did ancient forests once cover this joint?
Or was it grassland over undulating hills
running down to the river?
(We hear it was blue, too, once upon a time.
The river, that is)
Sometimes you wonder:
what's under all this concrete?
(Besides the enemies of several generations
of colourful racing identities)
And what was here before
we had cities, mortgages, pizzas?
How fresh the air must have been
when we could run unfettered across the hills
chasing dinner
rather than waiting
to take it home in a box.
