Ten years in a caravan park
Today I walked out the front door, down three steps,
over two paving tiles, between the trees
to be almost slammed
by a caravan
being towed, the wrong way, up the road.
These are the hazards of life in the park,
always surrounded by strangers.
We have salty air, tourists and wildlife,
retired drifters and kids on bikes.
It may have a ring of green scum,
but we have a swimming pool.
We hear the ocean at night and happy sounds
of people at play the whole year round.
We somehow lost the Australian dream
of a mansion in the suburbs.
Instead we found this whirling scene,
of campervans and surfboards.
At times we imagine leaving it all
but this has become our fate
and I suspect we might get lonely
enclosed by fences and gates,
as the neighbours drive to work.
We own the house and lease the site
in the sun with the lizards and birds.
Sometimes it’s noisy, sometimes it’s quiet.
Staff and guests are up and down but
we’re lucky, our life is light.
