CANBERRA MODERN MATES ARE MISSED ALREADY
A poem for mates who lived their lives full of daring, caring and great deeds.
Canberra Modern Mates
Today I learned I’ve lost five mates in eight months
They’re dropping like flies, including Bruce …
And Alan, Peter, Bill and now Bob … all gone … wow!
Who’s going to understand me from now …?
As we shake our heads and claim – “nonsense!”
Just like that Turkish Lone Pine tree
What varsity types are thinking-feeling, just like me?
I play Irish music – U2 — crank it up – till my ears hurt
Cranking up sound to express my feelings of hurt
That my mates from the older days have gone
They have literally (100 per cent) just hit the dirt.
Missing you already, I miss the group of ol’ blue eyes, and
That look, that grin, that shake of the head
Collectively it told me my mates were not dead
But now some are. Now it’s just me and geo- Fred.
So, Fred, keep hanging in there, shuffling that contractor’s sod
So that you and me can share a tea and a colleague’s nod
To the old days, when we pushed pens and paper
In office blocks, full of Grandpas and fresh-mint Maters
In grey cardigans, body shirts and safari suits
Who thought Skyhooks and Sherbet were the next best groups
To the Beatles and Rolling Stones, wearing tweeds and boots.
Canberra Moderns, that’s us, we worked to earn–
Father and my work mates are forever young, forever mod-ern.
Dressed up to reminisce, play music and discuss
When the Uni quad will be littered again with dross
Just like scholarly tomes we read in 1992-93
When we were each younger, solvent, healthy and free.
RIP x 5.
21 May 2019
Poem text copyright Fiona Rothchilds 2019.
Photographic images copyright Fiona Rothchilds 2019.