A Suburban Jungle

 

My grandmother lived alone in a semi detached house

some miles from the centre of city life

The local area was not fully urban

as aspects of rural life remained evident

Not far away stood an old farm house

some years ago converted into a pub

Foxes could be seen at night

scavagening for food amongst the dustbins

The houses were uniform and had been built between the wars

almost identical with bay windows and porches

and a touch of stained glass to add character

A short driveway led to a garage

which adjoined the house as a kind of support

The front garden displayed a postage stamp lawn

with roses surrounding it

It was all quite prosaic and normal

of no great attraction or interest

Behind the house and out of view

was another lawn which abruptly ended

A rickety fence separated this lawn

from the remainder of the garden

There, stood an apple tree, defiant

in the midst of a suburban rain forest

An overgrown area then receded to a fnal boundary

Gorse, nettles and feral foliage had seized control

The only inhabitants were insects

and the occasional hedgehog

It brought shame to house and neighbourhood

in a sea of well cultivated herbaceous borders

This beacon of neglect stood out

encompassed in its own rustic glory

The apple tree bore a bitter fruit

but in spring became the star attraction

of the suburban jungle with an explosion of blossom

Nature had retained control of this domain

refusing to relinquish its territorial gain

Hedges on either side formed a wall of purdah

to secrete its existence

It gave me a sense of pride, not embarrassment

I suppose because of its resilience and natrual beauty