ME
OLD BANANA BOX
Sittin’ in me favourite chair and feelin’ quite
aghast,
something led me wonderin’ ‘bout all the years gone
past.
Maybe ‘twas fatigue I felt and mused with just a
sigh,
came to me like lightnin’ yet I don’t know how or
why.
Four score years had come and gone, but where oh
where, indeed?
‘Twas no use lookin’ back in time at every little
deed.
More’s the point I asked meself, ‘How many left to
go?’
I’d seen so many things in life and done so much, ya
know.
I
rest me feet upon the box – same box I’ve always had,
a good old fashioned solid one left to me by me Dad.
It used to hold bananas and it came from who knows
where,
possibly from Gunnedah, Dad used to work near
there.
I glanced at it and stared again before it dawned
on me,
that crate had many uses - a part of the family,
it stored me kindlin’, housed a pup and chores
along the way.
I’d had that old banana box forever and a day.
With respect I
raised me feet and had a damn good peek,
I grabbed it firm and turned it, not knowin’ what
to seek.
That box had spent some time with me; much more
time than me wife,
and sure as hell that wooden crate had never caused
me strife.
It’s been a solid friend of mine and never let me
down,
it never gave me misery and never made me frown.
The box I mean, no, not me wife who lost her bloody
life,
my best crate had been a mate, much better than a
wife.
It used to sit outside the door to store me
firewood,
once it stored some bulbs I found, by God they were
so good.
And then one time I changed all that and had
another job,
buried the bulbs and sat me box on the wood stove
hob.
To once again store some twigs to start the old
fire stove,
and there it did a wondrous job, I’ll tell ya now,
by jove.
And still I found another task for me tough old
wooden crate,
became a ferret’s home just near the old back paddock
gate.
There was a time in Grenfell Town where Lawson
hailed from,
‘twas there I lent me old crate to a snivellin’
bloody Pom.
He said he was a poet and on me box he used to
stand,
recite sweet words, smile a lot, and wave his
whoppin’ hand.
Finished his spiel, he grabbed me box and quickly
off he went,
runnin’ fast I caught that bloke, to him me spleen
I vent.
He ranted and he raved but all his actions were in
vain,
a shifty one was he, but now I can’t recall his
name.
When I went down to Sydney Town I took me box with
me,
it housed me clothes, some shavin’ gear, me billy
and me tea.
‘Twas like a wooden suitcase yet most others sure
would laugh,
it might have looked real rough, ya know, but did
the job by half.
Them other blokes had fancy gear yet nothin’ like
me crate,
yeah, me and that banana box are still a pair to
date.
Amazes me to look back at where both of us have
been,
up some hills and down some dells, amazing what
we’ve seen.
Right now I’m here
and so’s me box, I’m lookin’ at its charm,
scratched, with dints and travellin’ wounds; and none
have done it harm.
I think I might retire it to a spot inside somewhere,
maybe place it near me bed to save on wear and
tear.
It’s surely been me closest mate, that travelled
wooden crate,
we’ve weathered storms and troubled times; survived
the lot by fate.
I stood right up and grabbed me box, the time
indeed had come,
to rest it from a useful life – revere it, like me
Mum.
At last I found a perfect spot close to me rockin’
chair,
right beside the piano stool, it fitted neatly
there.
I placed a doily square on top to spare it from
more pain,
in case I dropped some ciggie ash or something that
would stain.
It looked damn good located there and really
brought a grin,
‘cause every time I’d used it, it had offered no
chagrin.
Of times when I was just a lad, a-swaggin’ here and
there,
that banana box remained me mate, we travelled
everywhere.
Here I sit a-smilin’ with me mate here by me side,
it’s right here to the right of me, just like a
country bride.
So glad I had some common sense to honour work well
done,
promote a box that’s always bin just like a
favourite son.
Oh, what a mighty pair we’ve made together as a
team,
it sure as hell ain’t fantasy and nor is it a
dream.
Not sure how long I have to go, ‘Dear Lord, just
let me be!’
The one thing I can tell ya though, ‘That box will
outlive me’.
clancytucker.com.au
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