Punk Is Here To Pop Your Bubble

By | 1 September 2023

Punk is coming.

It’s 1975.
And we are 10.
And we are ready for it.

It’s 1976.
And Punk is here.
And now we’re Punk and we say fuck.
[under our breath

We say fuck Fernando.
And the fucking drums and guns in the number one spot for fourteen fucking weeks.
[it’s enough to make me almost cry
while spite drying the dishes
wishing those cannons would blow ABBA sky fucking high

It’s 1976.
Fuck the Bay City Rollers. And their tartan.

We want Punk.
And anarchy.
[we don’t know what anarchy is but it sounds dangerous and
angry and we are angry inside and we
like the hard angular shape the word makes in our head
like the name of our town
broke broke broke broke
broken Broken Hill

It’s 1977.
And there’s no money for records.
[there’s no fucking fun
you’ve been fucking cheated
of all the fucking fun

It’s 1977.
And we’re broke broke broke in the Silver City.
[in this city there’s a thousand things you can’t afford to do

But we can read the music charts.
And see that the S-asterisk-X Pistols are still unfairly number two.
[with a blanked out title but we know which song

It’s 1977 and Daryl and Marcia are the King and Queen of Pop.
It’s 1977 and fuck the Dirge of Kintyre.
It’s 1977 and thank fuck for The Saints.

It’s 1978.
And we’re Punk pretenders.
[we’re too afraid
to show we’re Punk
we cover our tracks with the Punk-adjacent

It’s 1978.
And we have spike resistant hair.
[our father’s Californian Poppy sends us back to the 1950s

It’s 1978.
And we want to paint our bedroom black.
And dye our hair black.
And be like Patti Smith.
[and that’s not going to fucking happen

It’s 1979.
We’re closet Punks.
We stick a TV Week Boom Town Rats poster up when no-one else is home.

It’s 1979 and London is calling us on a Sunday night.
It’s 1979 and The Clash are jammed.
[on Countdown
in between the Bee Gees and the Electric Light Orchestra

It’s 1979 and Iggy Pop is bored on Countdown.
[we’re bored with Countdown

It’s 1979.
Yes you can go to the school dance.
No you can’t dress fucking Punk.
There’s no fucking money for Punk clothes.
[in broke broke broke Broken Hill
fuck your shiny disco pants bought in Adelaide
but i love their shiny disco pants bought in Adelaide
and i’m dance dance dancing to Donna Summer

On page 56 of the high school magazine there is a photo from that night.
Three girls.
You’re the one dressed Punk.
[you’re wearing a hand knitted vest from the op-shop

You’re wearing a sign.
A fucking sign.
[it says Baby Punk

The sign is attached with a novelty nappy pin you’ve nicked from home.
The sign might as well say kick me.

But you’re not kicked.
You’re not kicked because you’re there with the two coolest girls in your year.
[they look so fucking cool

They look like Christine McVie and Stevie Nicks.
And there’s you.
With your badly cut fringe.
Blowing a bubble gum bubble.

And some-fucking-how.
You’ve ended up looking more like Ian Curtis than Johnny Rotten.

It’s 1979 and you’re too late for Punk.
It’s 1979 and you’re post-Punk and you don’t even know it.
It’s 1979 and you don’t look happy.
[but at that moment you actually are happy
you’re Autistic
you just don’t know it yet

[let’s just call it your resting Punk face

It’s 1979 and New Wave is coming.

It’s 1980.
And New Wave is here!

It’s 1980.
And you’re 15.

It’s 1980.
And now you’re really fucking ready for it.
No. You’re not fucking ready for it.
[your life is the same
as it ever fucking was


Image: “Three Girls at the School Dance”. The Quondong Magazine, 1979: Broken Hill High School.
An image of Susie Walsh and friends dressed in punk clothes.

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