Gutter Crawl

Started with the thirst after work

Hard day dealing with circle jerkers

Manager breathing down my crack

Like a fifty-something twerker

“Where do you see this business?”

Pause for effect: “Moving forward?”

Douche bag I see this business

Moving forward up your arse

Just like every other teleological

Metaphor you can shove into your

Glib over-achieving orifices

So five came and I hit the pub

And I hit it motherfucking HARD

Not at first of course

These things build like a symphony

First the intro, where I greet the locals

Blind Bob and Snide Sue have taken

Their usual places and are well lubed

I heave a hoi and spy Derek the Dalek

So called because he speaks in a monotone

Hiding in the shadows with a pint

He’s hoping to keep out of sight

But I am not in the mood to be alone

He has a plan to fuck his way through Melways

Suburb by suburb, blowjob by blowjob

But when it comes to teenage sex slaves

I beg to differ and move away

Next comes the slow movement

Gloria of the lonely hearts brigade

With her white wine and lemonade

Who I’d fuck had I not the hots for her daughter

She drones on about how men are bastards

As the sun sets and sky darkens

And I nod knowingly, ignoring distant laughter

For the more beer I drink the more serious it gets

We are all here for a reason, all fucked by life

Not content to sit at home, be the vapid doctor’s wife

This place is our temple, our hall of justice

The finale fills the air

Wednesday Night Trivia starts

My chips come without mustard

It all gets a bit vague from there

I might have tried to kiss a Swedish backpacker

I might have tipped ash in Gloria’s hair

I might have thrown myself onto the pool table

And performed my impression of a dolphin

Chasing the cue ball into the centre pocket

Which was when the publican pulled me aside

And said “Go home. Your legless.”

He pushed me out a side door

With well wishes and a six pack

Where I hit the pavement knowing

Today had become tomorrow

And none of my problems had gone away

Disappearing down streets cold and dark

We are all of us in the gutter

And it’s so all-consuming that

None of us are looking at the stars

© shaun patrick green 2014

Le parte maudite (for Georges Bataille)

Every economy overproduces

So what happens to the waste?

It becomes a commodity

To be secured and traded

By the magic of capitalism

Even shit no one wants has value

But lets take a typical share

And follow its vicissitudes

Now a company goes public

Like a pervert losing his raincoat

And pieces get sold off

These are called shares

The idea is that you buy a piece

Of this company

And you share in its profitability

If it doesn’t make a profit

Your money is down the toilet

If it does make a profit

You’re smelling like roses

Financial planners exist

To tell you this is a good thing

But they are bottom feeders

Sucking up the shit of larger fish

But wait – there’s more…

The company you have bought shares in

Is one of millions in a global casino

Called “The Free Market”

Where anything goes – thus the word “FREE”

So while your well-intentioned share

Is boggling about in the vacuum

Of free market international capital

There are traders out there betting on it

That’s right, like big odds roulette

And not only are they betting on your share

It’s rise or eventual fall

They are betting on the value

Of the company issuing the share

The amount of debt owed by that company

The value of the raw materials it uses

Even the value of the currency used to buy them

It doesn’t stop there

Once the company in which you have bought shares

Has made their product and shipped it

Someone has to clean up

And this is where waste becomes a commodity

Who buys it? Who sells it? Who coverts it?

There is a whole economy built around waste

Such that if we didn’t make it

Millions would be out of work

So keep buying over-packaged crap

Somewhere, someone’s livelihood

Depends on your accursed share

© shaun patrick green 2014

Is Scott Morrison Batman?

He is the protector

Of our sovereign borders

But who is he really? Huh?

We know he is the aspirational

Humanitarian politician

Who plays hard but has a heart

Of... Well, on reflection

He has no heart at all

Which begs the question:

Is Scott Morrison Batman?

He has unlimited access

To funds and toys such as

Orange boats return to sender

The Indo’s will never remember

After all they are our brown cousins

Recently descended from trees

Give ‘em the black cape routine

And they’ll be quivering at the knees

Because their small local disturbance

Well paid for but ill trained for

Will be the nail in the coffin

Of our good will with our neighbours

So, like Batman, Scott Morrison

Is trying to do good but is

Hunted and reviled by the public

Clearly he is misunderstood

© shaun patrick green 2014