If only he'd met a nice girl
and settled down in Croydon..
That blasted poetry, a void in
which his arty friends would hurl
him. He could of been a mechanic
by now in Footscray
instead of dead today
at twenty five. He was always manic
What with breeding mozzies,
frogs- that damn pet swan.
A life gone down the drains. Aussies
thought he was having them on
I said, I said “These poems are jokes.”
Ironic now he's labelled Hoax …
Ethel Malley: Sonnet
26 November 2005