MY OCKER MATE

 

                   MY OCKER MATE 

 “How ya goin mate, all on yer Pat Malone?”

 

“Reckon I’m stuffed, Molly the Monk,

two dog’s eyes with dead horse

plus, gutful of bloody beer,

fair dinkum copped the bullet after ten years,

bloody wheels, cactus, now feel ruddy crook,

damn well spat the dummy, left me brekky grub

so hitched ride to our local fav’rite pub.

 

“Struth mate we’ve known each other yonkers

won’t knock ya in yer shitty state, yer too brittle,

but what yer doin is bloody bonkers,

yer’ve had a fair shake of the sauce bottle

rootin bonzer blonde, bottler brazen bits at work,

hitched to beaut bird, two billy lids; mate yer a jerk.

 

Yer’ve never been a bludger on the job,

rats' arse to smoko, sweet F A to grog,

hands off yer donger, go home to yer cheese ‘n kisses,

stop bein a drongo, I’ll give ya lift to yer misses.”            

 

Alan Pinkus                                                                                alpinkuspoetry.blogspot.com