Sunday, January 4, 2009


A friend of mine (I call him that) catered
To a petty side of me that got its fun
From tales of blown-up bigotry: bashed Lebs, hatred,
And the dumb-show of an Asian kid loading, firing a gun
At dole-bludgers, gay blokes: a hit-list from Taree,
Recited for a slightly shocked, slightly mocking kind
Of laughing audience; he got these mates for free.
But even then we must have known how blind
He'd let himself become; his chess a primary clue that stunned a
Hapless chum who thought he'd push a Queen
And lost - but saw the self-defeating Anaconda
That, scaled with booze and backslappers, slowly squeezed.
Terrible loneliness throwing kicks alludes
To a friend of mine, pants lowered, a fire in his pubes.

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