Survival Room – A New Broom

And so he wasn’t there; Nick Minchin claims he
wasn’t on the stair – and wasn’t there again
today, I wish that he’d stay away. He’s not to
blame says Nick, we focussed fair and square
on outcomes – didn’t understand the game or
see a proper need. John Howard’s not the man
to hang – blame it on a creed disposed to think
of costs and not a “what and why” Apology to
stop the graphic bleeding of a grieving Nation.

So John, he stayed away again – a mean wee
manikin who staged his last hurrah. You’ll note
that Johnny’s sycophants were toxic quiet – an
eerie sleight of lip replaced endemic diarrhoea,
but then, to swim in shit like gravid pigs one
learns to not let waves get big! He’s earned
his place in History, a sad and sorry eyebrow’s
gloom behind horn rims, an unmoved inability
refuting he’s (God forbid) also an Australian.
© 14 February 2008, I. D. Carswell

Light And Pithy Puns

Whatever happened to that lying
jerk we knew from Bennelong? The
one with slightly botched recall, wore
glasses and was bald – flibber lips we
called him then. Beaten by a girl

they say, in a most horrendous way,
and – well, in the end, slid smoothly
round the S bend of history. I guess
you cannot be too flushed with what

we see as your success, so all the
very best Dear John! Tho’ I’m glad
you’re gone; make no mistake, I’m
pleased as punch and take delight in

making light and pithy puns about
deflated dreams. Look mate, I’m out
to lunch on your defeat, won’t be in
for many weeks to beast inflated
claims of what you said you’d done.
© 21 January 2008, I. D. Carswell