G’dayology

1 February 2017

Or this – I have an autistic child, and
when she repeats the whole Catholic Mass
at lunch the medical team call it echo-
lalia. Dock their lunch says Bruce, say
hello to reverse red tape prejudice
The trees won’t chop themselves down
unless you show them patiently, by

analogy. We had to gaol your combine
harvester say the police, it was doing
something wrong. It was Sunday, but
luckily I have an arm so I could chisel
my way in to the yard. Wrote a speech for
Stump Sunday: it was not complimentary
to your Christmas lights or the way you

arrange the white bread in your summer

pudding. Someone’s captain’s visor
slips out of the op-shop. Ghosts don’t
vote or they’d scare the Liberal Party
My voice was caught in a wombat burrow
by the time the night was over. Coral’s
gutless that’s its problem. Practically by
definition, a predator’s unseen till too late

Bruce is an asset: no matter how much
nothing there is to do, he’s always done
the least. He was in no rush for a handbag
made from a native bird. The young bull
fell in love with his father in the mirror and
his mother in his sister, it’s classic husbandry
In the paranoid waiting room, the weather’s

a major distraction, the TV appears to think

Speech patterns flatten this route, raise
the other. The gate indicates all kinds of
inclusions, performing none. The re-
ligious fallback itself begins to fall. I
have an autistic lyrebird and it covers
its head when we go to bed. The kids
were braver than those raised on abstract

mammals. Up a ridge and down a gullet
No, I won a bag of coal, and won’t let it be
burned, that’ll show the desert. I wanted to
show my upset sister how family war’s an
antidote to the world. She took the glocken-
spiel out of my hand and sang a G’day that
cracked the water tower, raked the hay, shaded

the sun and set the snake and mongoose free

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