A slightly rude, but true, poem.

The house I grew up in has a long dirt driveway that winds through the bush. There’s a sign with our house number on it, but no gate, and you can’t see the house from the road. In the summer holidays, our town used to get flooded with tourists. They didn’t always notice – or, I suppose, care – that they were wandering onto private land when they followed our driveway into the forest.

In first year at uni, I wrote this poem for a class. Back then, I called it ‘Invasion of Privacy’. Today, I’m posting it under its cheekier and more fitting title.

Enjoy. 😉

Halfway up the Driveway

Bogans on their motorbikes with engines roaring

nosy morning walkers who claim to be ‘exploring’

cyclists in Lycra with their shrink-wrapped cocks

all seem to treat our driveway like bloody Goldilocks.

Eucalyptus filled the air, shadows were getting long.

Returning from my daily walk, I’d seen a currawong,

roos and skinks and other creatures wondrous and bizarre

then halfway up our driveway stood an unfamiliar car.

It was an idling hatchback. Its carapace was green.

Not a country car – for, to be honest, it was clean.

Seemed to me they must be lost, not doing any harm

so I thought I’d better point them to the You-Pick cherry farm.

As I approached the driver’s side, I saw in the back seat

a young man, buff and tanned, shirtless in the heat.

The tribal prongs of his tattoo were clear, but not his face.

He had a gel-slimed fauxhawk, and a thumping bass

surged from the radio and bruised the summer air.

I looked in the driver’s window, but no driver was there.

 

Wait…

 

The engine wasn’t idling. No, this car was rocking:

a frantic pounding rhythm that was animal and shocking.

At this, I found my spirit with a righteous rage imbued.

There was a couple in the back – and call me a prude,

but bonking on our driveway, completely in the nude,

struck me as unbelievably, abominably rude.

I knocked on the window and wrenched open the door

and the couple sprang apart and rummaged on the floor

for something, anything, to cover up down there

and I was just so furious, I didn’t even care.

‘’Scuse me, this is our house! Can you leave, please?’

The woman sat up stammering, a towel between her knees.

I slammed the door and left the naked strumpet and her beau

and as for what they thought of me, I guess I’ll never know.

Displaying photo 1.JPG

Ever, ahem, walked in on someone? Tell me in the comments!

Advertisements

4 thoughts on “A slightly rude, but true, poem.

  1. Bruce P says:

    Halfway up the driveway! Beautiful.
    I love ..the idling hatchback, its carapace was green…
    This is Bush Poetry for the modern age.
    Can’t wait for the chicken thing. It’ll be a hit.
    BP

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s