Goddammit though


Bitter is the taste

Of grudging praise

When every seething sinew


In the opposite direction.


That flamin’ Aussie


Flailed emotions

Killing off

Our dogs of war

And lays about him,

Buccaneering Aussie.


When all was flamin’ set

To trounce, devour, incinerate

Our dearest Aussie foes

And heap bright flamin’ coals

Upon them.

And wield wild flamin’ rods

Of pure titanium

About their ducking heads.


But then, my fury pricked itself

Upon the savage needles

Of my leery bombast, while

Seeing roaring coals and hissing steel


In recognition of

My own simple-mindedness.


So, well done, Aussie lad

Even though you made me sad

By plucking my frenzy mad

It’s I, not you, that’s mad a tad

So, well done, Aussie lad.