The Fluffy Game

In the Australian parliament politicians clink-clank like fighting birds in a suburban chicken coop;

Bin-liner salespeople hurling clip-board text jibes accompanied with spitted legalese;

The trading of insults made amorous with a pinch of sleaze;

Their behaviour a gross mimicry of orgiastic raves;

Not like Surfies and Sharpies who warred simply because they didn’t like each other. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Make it Right for Me

When Jesus was trying to make it right for me I made a miscalculated detour unfortunately Onto a one way freeway of perpetual misery And I’m driving my red horned Cadillac Listening to Elvis and Carl Perkins on the radio And I got my red sunglasses to cut down the glare Because I’m about to bemoan my worldly troubles Luckily I have a billion barrels to burn My Caddy’s on a three hundred thousand service I hope the transmission fluid stays real moist And I curse my ex-wife for crooking me And my boss for cold watering my great ideas I still feel Mr Authority works the inside of me C’mon Jesus can you make it right for me.   Empty fried chicken cartons fill the back seat No need to answer the two calls of nature But it’s thirsty work retrospectively driving on Trying to out-drive this highway of deep regret No CHIPS on bikes can flag me down Nor would they care for my deepest troubles I’ve left my baby back in Redemption Town And my paren...
Read more

The Daredevils

They warmed each other as brethren safe in this house blessed by their lord, their talk was solemn, and they lightened hardships by praying and playing Twister and recycling memories of policies they always loved. Each subsequently died and sober Republicans try remembering them for they are veterans too easily forgotten, and this house lives for them. Beyond their death recriminations spook this crumbling house feared back then by the red hand of unknown terrorists whose martyr’s blood could have been its new texture and not the blue of Democratic settlers who occupy it now. Still the neighbourhood talk of those three defiant men who lounged in the Sarcophagus, often haunted by the footsteps of their historical failures indecent as the floorboards crake; alive in the hours past midnight. They resonate the Big Three: Dubya, Chains and La Rhumba; wise men querying the outside world heavy with power that hung on their shoulders like old creepers over a broken ...
Read more

The Chomp

And it was felt by a nation, a shark’s chomp on a swimmer’s leg. And as he bleeds, the nation slowly withers,   For fear lives best in damaged bodies:   And as leisured minds struggle with the horror The call went out for the shark’s demise. And the search for the criminal predator is on for days, No sandbar was left unturned; no wave was left unspeared, But some sharks were, And the sharks swam in packs, curious but wary. The media remained on red alert, But the one, a great white, was not to be found And the search came to its disappointing end.   The swimmer recovered from the bite to his thigh And the nation was relieved, and got on with life. It is more probable to be bus whacked than be eaten by a shark Some said; And if one wades into murky waters at dawn, trouble is aroused Experts said; Shark nets are the beach citizen’s best protection, others said. Those who play, people say, must respect the way Sharks rule from the de...
Read more