Bad Behaviour

You forgot to mow your lawn

Not that bad

Woke at 9am with a yawn

Not that bad
Last night was a blast

Not that bad

Can’t find the keys to the car

Not that bad

Eggs and bacon for breakfast

Not that bad

Afternoon delight with the missus

Not that bad

A gathering sense of warning

Not that bad

Tony Abbott is dismissive

Not that bad

Hockey says tax cuts undelivered

Not that bad

Taking Candy from liberal babies

Not that bad

Assaulting rich old ladies

Not that bad

Messing with Medicare

Not that bad

Spending 4 billion on defence

Not that bad

Keeping children in detention

Not that bad

Keeping anyone in detention

Not that bad

You’re not that bad

As far as bad is understood

The worst you ever did

Was pretend that you were good

© shaun patrick green 2015

Surgery.

Tomorrow my wife

Goes under the knife again

Well used to wielding it

In a world of men

Now she relies on them

To complete her femininity

The irony is not lost on her

Nor is the spectre of cancer

It has drifted into our lives

Like a distant relative

Over staying its welcome

I will mollify our child

Well trained in bedside manner

Perhaps more so than most doctors

They will poke and prod her

Consider the volume of her drains

I will tend and mend

Bring her toothpaste, magazines

Her chest a battleground

For forces microscopic, unseen
All of us willing her
Through the strength of our love
To make the world a better place
As it is below, so it is above

© shaun patrick green 2015

The Music Mafia.

They are the music mafia

Look out coz they might getcha

So underground you don’t see

The beards for the bodyshirts

Tight pants and suit jackets

Stroking chins and looking down

On your choices for JJJ’s Hottest 100

No Taylor Swift will convince you

That Father John Misty is

The best thing to happen to music

-Ever-
That Jack White is a Genius
As is Kurt Vile and Tex Perkins
Is the sexiest man in rock and roll

How do I know?

I used to be one of them

But I turned informant

Now I live under witness protection

In suburbs far from the live music scene

Black jeans and pointy shoes

Side burns and roll your own cigarettes

I am just another schmuck like you

Listening to 104.9Hitz FM

© shaun patrick green 2015

What is said and done.

What is said is said

What is done is done

There’s no going back

We can’t turn and run

The soul is laid bare

The truth will have out

When flesh is stripped

Bones leave no doubt

We tear at each other

Like dogs in a cage

Character assassins

Emboldened by rage

Love turns to loathing

Loathing turns to pity

We spiral down

Like rain in the city

Last night was brutal

Less brutal than most

You said I was a cheat

I felt like a ghost

The wine in your veins

Took hold of your tongue

Talking like a tramp

Strangling your young

You’ll kill what you love

Just to get some peace

Repeating the cycle

Of obsession and release

What is done is said

What is said is done

A trail of victims

Two cowards, one gun

© shaun patrick green 2015

Love and Antioxidants.

Raging upon waking

Our daughter wages war

Upon a material world

Not of her making

Brought into it like

A pretzel through a sieve

She has only to live

Despite her mother’s cancer
Apostrophe indicating

We “own” our cancers

But instead our cancers “own” us

Kind of like pets, or children

Which begs the question:

Are our offspring actually

Tumours externalised?

In lieu of an answer

We wage war with her

Wrestling with nectarines

Apple grenades sent flying

Pear pieces spying

Is all this fruit overkill?

We eat her blue berries

Needing the antioxidants

More than she ever will

© shaun patrick green 2015

Tiny Hands

Her tiny hands reach out

Into an unfathomable universe

Bending time like light

I feel I have been holding

Her bottle for hours

Yet 10 minutes has passed

According to the clock

She is 5 months old

But it seems like yesterday

She was plucked from her mother

And held up puppet style

Like a surreal piece

Of street theatre

Is this the function of children?

To gauge our own aging

Or to teach us about mortality?

She holds her own bottle now

In place of my wife’s missing breasts

Crawls toward toys like treats

Laughing, talking, smiling

Time ticks a tock and still

She has such tiny hands

© shaun patrick green 2014

Too much history to hide.

Every fear, every foe, every deed

Every want, every woe, every need

Every mistake, every loss of face

Every missed opportunity, loss of place

Every time he was less than a man

Every time he didn’t do all a man can

Every drink, every tear, every fight

Every angry act, every day, every night

Those about to and all those who have died:

Too much history to hide

This is what I see in my father’s eyes

Staring stunned, far off, plate wide

Like a PTSD affected soldier returned

From the 70 year war of his own life

His once strong hands now trembling

His voice cracked, his gait shambling

He has been hollowed out from the inside

By this all consuming rising tide

A total loss of self in which to abide:

Too much history to hide

Can the same be said for the political divide

In this country bent on social suicide?

Every betrayal of trust, every broken promise

Every hole in the ground, every burden upon us

Every slight of hand, every obfuscation

Every burial of truth, every call to nation

Every media circus, every corporate junket

Every intervention and ignored convention

Every detainee who for freedom tried:

Too much history to hide

The same will happen to me in time

I will stare with my father’s eyes

At every failure, every lessening, every lie

Every moment of weakness, every sleepless night

Every wrong word, every incomplete sentence

Every selfish thought, every time I’m petulant

Every loss of hope, every outburst in fury

Every hangover, every slip, every fall

Every violent impulse inside me and all

The violent impulses used against me

All of these will one day coincide:

Too much history to hide

© shaun patrick green 2014