[In Ireland, the English Lords outlawed the Celtic language
and made the citizens dance without the use of their hands -
a ****** discipline imposed to avoid assassinations
by Irish patriots who refused to speak in English
locked in a cultural inheritance]

Ned Kelly’s driving the Great Ocean Road
as fast as he can go
there’s a BBQ on Australian Day
and his frock is getting strange.

Dance;
without the use of your hands.
Dance with only your legs
and your head,
your arms held straight at your sides.

Dream of your people and the words
they remember
dream in the colors of your childhood;
the trees and the sheds.
Dream in the color of
the voice of your mother.

Do not celebrate invasion day,
its standing on the cracks.
Change the date and do not speak
out loud,
whisper the name
of your oldest ancestor
and hide from the men
in the street.

Dare not speak the racial fetish
that courses through your blood,
its alcohol that makes you white
You want to be civilized.

Flags are not allowed;
its a grog free day
and we would prefer that smokers died
and that you dance ... silently
without the use of your hands.

Do not sing too loudly
because those who celebrate
are more than those who capitulate.
Be happy quietly, silently, secretly,
there’s race police nearby.