Saturday, 8 August 2020

Melbourne you’re my home but you feel a little different.

Have I been too hard on you with my selfish criticism?
You are silent and my whisper echoes back.

Melbourne you’re my home but you smell a little different.

I cannot enjoy the guilty pleasure of cuddling in your drunken weekend breath.

Melbourne you’re my home but you look a little different.

Are you tired of my angry footsteps on your polished bluestone pavements?
Did I crack your English quaint? Did you grow impatient to all of my complaints?

Melbourne you’re my home but you sound a little different.

You tease me with the sounds of trams, but they are vacant and linger for no reason at their empty stops.
You try to please me with the sound of ticking crossings, but all the green men are trapped in the loneliness of their glow.

Melbourne you’re my home but you taste a little different.

Was it all too much for you? Is that what it’s about? You just wanted to be left alone and let the rain clean you out?
Wash the residue of engines, dust and weekend vomit, filth of cash and glitter, soy milk froth and sauce.

Melbourne you’re my home but you feel a little different.

A distant siren remind me of the festivals and cheeky troubles we used to get each other into – Just another one who had a little too much fun.

Melbourne you’re my home but I feel a little different.

Did I spoil you? Did you burst from having too much stuff? Too much senseless shopping? Too much footy made you fruity?
Do you need more time alone? More trees and possums perching on your lawns?Should I remove all those spiky bird deterrents because their shit just keeps you warm?

How can I change so you embrace me once again? Is it ever gonna be the same? If I change will you do too? Please tell me how so I can plan ahead and we can be together but perhaps a little better.

Melbourne you’re my home and I love you.

We cannot be free and careless without being responsible and independent.

We must learn to live apart and look deep down inside before we march again with pride.


This poem is an outcome of desperate melancholy. The associated music video was produced to compliment the dramatic effect of the poem and not vice verse. If the consumer of the poem and associated media are found to derive joy or other sensations including but not limited to happiness, hope and optimism, the publisher reserves the exclusive right to disappoint you in the future at an undisclosed time, from the discomfort of the office of their crumbling media empire. PPE must be worn throughout the reading to avoid spreading contagious facial expressions and to confuse facial recognition algorithms. For full terms and conditions please wait.


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