My son and I have made a deal
he stays in our house rent free
so long as he helps with the evening meal

side by side we talk, dice, slice
potatoes, sport, TV
carrots, music, advice

I could delegate the whole thing
feet up, cold beer
be waited on like a king

or let him play a video game
cook on my own
he wouldn’t complain

but the food tastes better
is more nourishing
when we work together

there’s more fun
more warmth in the kitchen
when I cook with my son

Every evening
she beams into my living room
bringing me the news of the world
Juanita ***
looking at me with her large eyes, gently tossing her coiffured blond hair
demurely enunciating ugly words through her beautifully shaped mouth

another insane event has occurred in some far off country
and Juanita *** has nice red lip gloss on tonight
a boat load of desperate people has reached our shores
only Juanita *** can make the word "asylum" sound ******
more bikie gang trouble in the city
if I had tats and a Harley Juanita, would you ride off with me?
a ******* released on bail
you shouldn't have to read such filth Juanita
the Government’s economic policies are working
who did you share your stimulus package with Juanita?
another loutish sportsman has disgraced himself in public
Juanita, let the sports reporter read that stuff in future
Parliamentarians hurl foul language at each other in Canberra
I love it when you talk ***** Juanita
debate continues about the best way to tackle climate change
if there was an ETS Juanita, would you trade emissions with me?

she is telling me that tomorrow it will be warm and moist
and Jesus Christ, Juanita *** has two buttons undone on her blouse
There will be another news update in an hour
but not from Juanita ***
and without Juanita ***
no news is good news

the men in their shiny arsed suits
gather close to the door
inhale the incense, the mothball aroma of their neighbour’s Sunday best
endure the droning of the priest,
who denounces the idleness of men
the sinfulness of women
they feel ferocious thirsts building
their minds have wandered  
to the pub where the publican is pulling pints of porter
letting them stand, almost full, on the bar
foaming, settling, forming voluptuous heads
waiting for the appreciative lips, mouths, tongues of the restless church bound men.
one breaks ranks, sidles out the door
the others look sheepishly at each other and sidle, dribble
across the road to slake their thirsts
knowing that they have, barely, done their duty for the week
they can, with an almost clear conscience
drown their sins in the landlord’s best beer.

_
                                 On

                             Goolwa     Beach

                                the  waves are

                                    dogged    

                                        bounding  

           ­                           puppies  bouncing  

            ­                  excitedly  around  your  feet  

                           Greyhounds sprinting  in to nip your  

                     ankles   Labradors  wet nosed gambolling

                 slobbering      Rottweilers  snarling    slavering

            knocking  you off balance          in packs        hard  

       on the heels of the leader           *** crazed  

    sniffing   the   one   in   front         mounting it

   mad     things      collapsing         foaming  retreating

whimpering   spent  on  the  sand     cowering  like **whipped curs

My shadow has been behaving strangely in recent weeks
I’ve noticed that it’s far less docile than it used to be
For instance, on those occasions when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window
And see an older, more stooped person than I expect
My shadow is strutting upright, youthful, vigorous
And then when I’m struggling to run for the bus, heart pounding
My shadow is impatiently hurrying ahead, no longer so willing to wait for me
I swear last week when out cycling, it tried to overtake me
When I’m walking through crowds, careful not to gaze too long or longingly at the young women
My shadow is **** well staring and ogling and half turning to follow them
This worries me.  I’m concerned about my shadow’s state of mind
I fear it is about to abandon me for a younger model

The Australian Thirteens
(Black)
Your mummy took a beating
Your daddy's drinking beer
Your brother's lost his eyesight
Your sister's disappeared
The thirteens. Right on

Your cousin’s sniffing petrol
Your Uncle's in the cells
Your buddy's begging money
To spend in the hotel
The thirteens. Right on

And you, you make me shameful
To see the state you're in
I tell you live like we do
But all you do is grin
at
The thirteens. Right on.


The Australian Thirteens
(White)**
Your mother’s hooked on botox
Your daddy’s with the guys
Your sister's anorexic
She fades before your eyes
The Thirteens. Right on

Your daughter is a ******
Your son beats queers for fun
Your priests ****** your children
And you just move them on
The Thirteens. Right on.

You living in that city
And buying all that stuff
And still you look unhappy
Cos you'll never have enough
No
The thirteens. Right on.

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
the way you look over your glasses
as you kick those journos’ arses
I love your hairy nostrils and your square double chin
but most of all I love the way you know everythin’
not a skerrick of doubt, any subject, any time
you can hold forth. you’re ready to chime

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you don’t need no research. no need to hold back
here is your wisdom, you’re on the attack
here is the gospel according to Tuckey
you front them with macho, you front them so plucky
you tell them the answers straight from the heart
they look like stunned mullets as you take them apart

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you run rings round those greenies, those tree hugging ****
with their talk about warming, their climate change glum
I trust you Wilson, you know better than them
you can leave them all gobstruck with a home spun gem

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you can spot a terrorist at a hundred paces
the ones with the beards and the slightly dark faces
we don’t want them here taking our jobs and houses
with their Qurans and burqas and baggy white trousers

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you show us what it means to be Australian
some call you redneck, some say you’re not cool
but you are our bedrock, you are no fool
you are the brown substance of this wide, sunburnt land
and that’s why, Wilson Tuckey, I really, really, really love you man.