The Beer Was Cold Enough (rev)

It was amazing; while I lay a-bed I had the lines
a-roaring through my head like locusts on the wing.

An unabashed extravagance of such a flock of stunning
words had shocked me out of brittle sleep – and sleep
avoids me like someone who’s plagued or way too out
out of vogue – so I rise and try to write, reflecting that
I might confine a rogue idea or two – at least.

It was a desperate hope. My thoughts were caught in
politics and patronymic polymeric jingoistic sh*t concerning
what it means to be Australian. I’ve had the thoughts before
and drowned them with the coldest draught of beer a
man can stand, and followed that with gallons more.

I mean the thought need not occur unless you’re not an
Aussie drinking beer. Or more distressing – given over to
depressing thoughts on things without a beer in hand.
What brought this on? Crikey, I don’t know –
the beer was cold enough.
© 22 August 2006, I.D. Carswell