Oblong, brown and sealed with tape,
the box appeared with its far-off postmark:
Sydney to Perth; David Jones to the farm.
Uncle Charl’s way of saying ‘Happy Christmas’, and
how much more there was in Sydney.
We all gathered, pushed back my Mum
with the scissors, ‘Wait.’
It was hard to wait. The tape was
the flaps were
lifted, and our
trucks of wood, trains and cranes,
clown masks and printing sets,
spinning tops and chemistry sets,
Meccano pieces and Monopoly,
dominoes and frisbies,
helicopters with parachutes,
books and bike parts,
marbles and more.