Damian Balassone: Four Poems
Larkin was a Larrikin
Larkin was a larrikin;
Larkin was a toad.
He liked to take his lady friends
to Cemetery Road
and share a pot of English tea,
way back in nineteen sixty-three.
Larkin was a larrikin;
Larkin was a hoot.
He boogied with librarians
behind the library chute.
He shimmied like a giant squid,
he did not mean to, but he did.
On Bail in Bali
I’m on bail in Bali.
I’m waiting for my trial.
I’m cruising on a Harley
across the tropic isle.
I’m on my way to Kuta Beach
to practice what the locals preach.
I’m on bail in Bali.
I’m chatting up the chicks.
I’m cranking up Bob Marley.
I’m gonna get my fix
before the judge instructs the guard
to throw me in the prison yard.
Barry Gibb
Barry Gibb,
the sole surviving Bee Gee,
sold his house
and booked a flight to Fiji
and swapped his disco parodies
for Melanesian melodies.
The French Teacher
My teaching style was what they call laissez-faire;
success was not to be…
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