The Beer Was Cold Enough

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
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 shit 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