Sun and shadow chase each other over the grassy oval.
The bell rings. School children mob the gates.
The afternoon is filled with corner-shop traditions --
ice-cream signage, flavoured milk and squishy lollies.
A century lapses along Inkerman Street
between fence palings and laundry-laden Hills Hoists.
The children mass home to their front doors,
like their parents and grandparents decades ago.
I dream their dreams, remembering
silly commercials interrupting sillier cartoons.
A glaze of latest, must-have toys infiltrates their sleep.
Post-millennial jingles sting immemorial schoolyard rhymes.
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