As part of my experimentation process in all forms of writing, I performed this piece at a recent heat of the SA Poetry Slam series. Suffice to say it didn’t go down too well with the predominantly personal angst-ridden young emo audience. Ah, well, to each his own.

PS – For my overseas readers:

1. ScoMo is the universal nickname for our Prime Minister, Scott Morrison, who’s about to receive a State Dinner from Donald Trump.
2.  The last stanza is a parody on our best known traditional folk song, Waltzing Matilda.

 

I know what you’re doing, ScoMo,

when you push the Dutton panic button

and Michaelia tells us there’s no cash left in the machine;

it’s the old magician’s trick of misdirection.

 

I know when you’re playing your Trump card, Scomo,

Of all circuses and no bread

While behind you the blind horses nod and wink for the cameras

And whistle up the dogs to bite the refugees.

 

I know what you’re doing, Scomo, making us pick sides

Telling women sleeping in cars that it’s all the greedy Boomers fault

And telling frozen Newstarters that it’s all their own fault

Because you’ve got a no-fault clause in your social contract.

 

I know what you’re doing, ScoMo,

Smiling at screen zombies who live their lives online,

And regurgitate their ignorance for eternity

and shape-shift their paranoia on to anyone but you.

 

I know what you’re doing, ScoMo,

Winding up mid-lifers running in the wait-for-age handicap

over the mortgage distance,

and playing dead-safe while they wait for the Lotto results.

 

I know what you’re doing, ScoMo,

waiting to zonk me out in front of the TV in a nursing home,

where immigrants shove shit in one end and wipe it up at the other,

while you’re waiting for your mess of parliamentary pottage.

 

But this ghost will be heard as I camp by your billabong

Despite all your snoopers and the cameras I see

I’m not happy-clapping, waiting ‘til the planet boils

I’m calling out your humbug and slamming it with glee.