Melbourne sounds like Sydney – but not like this. Don’t give up the day job Aggy.
There was a young man from Melbourne
who rhymes were a little seldom,
He wrote and he scribed,
and he thought, and he tried,
but he kept getting it wrong and put Sydney.
by Aggy Finn, Aged 35 1/6
Let us go then you and I
while the night is laid out against the sky
like a smear of mustard on an old pork pie.
“Nice poem Tom. I have ideas for changes though, why not come over?”
– Ezra
The wombat lives across the seas,
Among the far Antipodes.
He may exist on nuts and berries,
Or then again, on missionaries;
His distant habitat precludes
Conclusive knowledge of his moods.
But I would not engage the wombat
In any form of mortal combat.
– “The Wombat”
I saw something streak past my driveway the other night. It ran in a manner not unlike a chimp, or baboon – on all fours with a two-by-two gait. It was moving fast enough that it couldn’t have been an escaping dwarf or baby. It had no tail, and was kind of compact. Needless to say I abstained from leaping after it into the dark, preferring to remain ignorant of the capabilities of your wombat in a fair fight.
