Beenleigh Historical Village/ Literary Archives

Dallas Berge

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I’ve never tried watermelon wine, though I certainly like wine. I guess, if given the chance, I’d try it. I have known a few old dogs in my time, in fact, when I lived in Mexico City, I used to go to a nearby square and pat a few. Sadly, they’d been abandoned, and I’m a bit of a soft touch when it comes to animals. Speaking of touching, I used to stroke them and give them a lot of love, which generally resulted in blackened palms. But fortunately no diseases to my knowledge.
I have nothing against children, in fact occasionally I find them quite enjoyable. But put the three together in a song, and my heckles start to rise.
We’d decided to try a new café. Though I liked the old café, it was decided as a group to try a new café. The location seemed convenient and we hoped the food would be good. Well, I didn’t think much of the food, and neither did anyone else. But what really stuck in my craw, was the ‘entertainment’.
Now I am sure those two guys bring joy to some people, though strangely I have never witnessed that, despite having the pleasure of their presence on two occasions. OK, I’ll get to the point now. I hate country music. I can stomach a bit of Dolly Parton, and I have heard that if you play country music backwards, your dog actually comes back to you, and your granny is no longer a cripple in Nashville.
But it touches me not, and the song ‘Old dogs and children, and Watermelon Wine’ is a particular object of hate for me. So it is to my relief that my lovely writers’ group will be trying a new café. Hopefully, with no ‘cowboys’ crooning about watermelon wine.

Tomorrow

Dallas Berge

“Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow” so sang Annie, in the eponymous musical. For me,
tomorrow is not only a day away, tomorrow is an awesome day.
Admittedly, backed by the Berge family motto ‘Never do today what you can put off until tomorrow’, tomorrow has a pretty full agenda.


But that’s not a problem.
The only problem with ‘tomorrow’, is that it turns into ‘today’.
‘Today’ has never been my favourite day. It contains none of the rose-tinted memories of any other days before it, and somehow, once it has begun, it strangely lacks the promise of tomorrow.
Here in Logan, the odds are pretty good that the sun will come out tomorrow, though I wouldn’t bet my bottom dollar there’ll be sun. Just thinking about tomorrow, can clear away the cobwebs and the sorrow, til there’s none. When I’m stuck with a day, that’s grey, and lonely, I just stay in my bed, like I’m dead, and say…. the sun’ll come out tomorrow, so I’ve got to hang on til tomorrow, come what may.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you, tomorrow, as long as you’re not today.