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Dad had threatened for some time to reclaim the land behind the shed,
where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead
of being easy to be shifted; blackberries, docks and thistles grow,
entwining history of ours - and you know we didn't know.

Mum cracked the whip one Sunday handing out the different tools
for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules.
We weren't to stop until the rubbish had been cleared and left to show
a barren space to be landscaped - and you know we didn't know.

Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray.
First we had to slash blackberries to open up a pathway.
Old fencing wire and bent droppers; we pulled and tugged, the work was slow.
Plus bits of motors; old oil filters - and still we didn't know.

The 'old man' knocked a stump out I can't remember being a tree.
It disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see.
Plastic pots and old fuel drums onto the tray we heave and throw.
Just on half the plots been cleaned up now - and still we didn't know.

A concrete trough and a mattress spring; mesh from an old birdcage.
A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage.
Sardine tins; a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won't mow,
now there's just one corner left to clean - and still we didn't know.

A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go.
One by one we dragged the rusting sheets - and still we didn’t know.
Dad picked up the final sheet and quickly threw it down again.
His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook - we 'bloody-well' knew then.

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