Blue Collar Diaspora

Over a channel of prejudice
I flew long ago
to a new land

now, through streets of stigma
I, like others before me
move out of the family nest
and into new horizons

this is a tale of two cities

No more bumpy Bridge Road
here the bike routes are signposted
no more blank looks
people know where I live now
no more highway near my door
here my radio makes the noise

still, somethings never change
public transport, supermarkets
all within walking distance
not much different
from here to there

its a leap in perceptions
median incomes and educations
but there’s still breakins
divorces, babies and breakdowns
and while I can come home
(not Home yet)
whenever I want to
I’m still single

no more views of the sea...
now, the Tram can take me
to touch its vast saltiness

here kids play in the street
like I used to
hastily carrying off makeshift goals
as a car cruises past
nudging the 40 kph speed limit

the journey was so short
but the distance so long
from there to here

but its more than twenty centimetres
on a map
there’s no wasted lives
black T-shirts are as rare
as testosterone spun donuts

the swimming pool is open
and Vinny and Sally Ann
well they don’t fit into the café scene
and you don’t know where they’ve been

not here thats for sure

there’s no dole queue here
no 40% consignment quota
of youth to fill with dreams
and then crush them with boredom
no hills to climb and sit, aloof
from the hardship around me

I fled meat and three veg
and playing women like instruments

not that here is better
prejuidice is just different,
hidden in quiet streets,
sheltered by gnarled, old trees
it creeps forth at the ballot box
and spills over coffee or tea

it's oh so different, and oh so the same.