Getting Ready to Move [second fit]
....Cloudbursts seemed to know where to find me:
in Clifton Hill, with its upstairs view -
parkland, Melbourne skyscrapers and a big sky,
while the flood flowed down the tv and a hundred CDs,
a ceiling came down. Reason to move.
In Balwyn North a hundred garments went to the drycleaner,
the carpet festered and underneath required a new floor.
Reason to move.
There are books in piles disfiguring the guest room.
The two cars lack shelter.
The spa bath, used once (by a guest), holds boxes of tax files.
Fixing the rotting window-frames and decking is not cheap.
Adding on rooms, making an upstairs for instance, quite beyond us.
But moving to the right house, what could be simpler?
By chance, over Saturday morning's paper,
the eye falls on a house for sale,
not in a suburb we fancy, not with a façade we fancy
except the upstairs balcony (indeed itıs upstairs living),
not in our price bracket, but why not take a look?
Itıs so roomy! Put in some shelves and weıre laughing.
Shelter for two cars. No back garden whatsoever,
yet no great loss, because in front is a park with trees,
two bird sanctuaries, and a lake.
Living upstairs maximizes the view,
and the balcony youıd live on most of the year.
Unaffordable? Letıs fix on our upper limit,
consult a mortgage broker, and go to the auction.
Better, get a friend with a cool head to attend the auction.
The day arrives, rain sets in, we park at the end of the street.
The crowd of bidders and spectators goes in out of the wet and upstairs.
Time passes. Our friend rings.
It can be ours if we come and negotiate.
Which we do, and the auctioneer squeezes a little more out of us,
and persuades the vendor to come down to our level. Done.
The required deposit is made. Dizziness and hilarity set in.
Ahead: the packing up our lives and chattels, mostly books,
opening our old house to potential purchasers,
and on the day fixed for auction, witnessing the fate of house and garden,
possibly bought by a builder - for the land.
A knock-down job.
And the shortfall -
every dollar in the gap between two house prices
means new debt.
Daily we drive to the suburb we used to scorn,
scorning it less now, pausing near our future home,
waving hello to the child on the balcony,
exercising our dog - our two dogs,
for a puppy has suddenly joined the family -
on the grass our new home overlooks.
The walk to the lake is sublime, the walk back steep.
Roll on December, when, should all go well,
we unpack, sort, shelve, breathe slowly again,
and lean on the upstairs balcony
looking north over the park.
***************************
November passes, our old house fails to sell.
Exhausted by money-talk and calculation,
we borrow - to the hilt and beyond,
going for broke with the mortgage-broker.
The day to move looms,
the old house will be emptied, still awaiting a buyer.
Our lawyer jokes: check the insurance,
have a last barbecue there, too close to the house,
whoosh, a Jewish stock-take...ı
Max Richards
Balwyn North for a few more days
Wednesday 30 November 2005
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