ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

THE AUSSIE SPECIES
© Frank Daniel Canowindra nsw. October 1998


Have you ever had a decent look at the species ‘Aussie Man;’
Both sexes I’m referring to — they roam throughout this land.
They’re born at a very early age and suckle their mother's breast,
Some stay that way for at least a year until they give it best.

By then they’re at the toddlers stage, that’s when they learn to walk.
And vain attempts are often made to teach them how to talk.
They’re quite adept at bawling in a ruse to get their way,
Then plastic bits instead of tits soothes them through the day.

Comes time for education, that’s when television takes its turn,
Sesame Street and Kindy shows are the usual ways to learn.
When the nestling reaches three years old it’s time for interaction,
They’re taken from their homely nest into a pre-schools faction.

From five the weanlings go to school until they reach their teens,
Advancing to Universities for more learned ones it seems.
The work-place finds a lot of them proudly building on their morals,
While the others tend to laze about resting on their laurels.

The labour force shares all the toil — that’s equality and fairness.
While educated yuppies vie for socio-political awareness.
The working class pays all the tax and supports the un-employed,
Who live a life of luxury on the coast-lines — melanoid.

The breeding cycle then revolves, new fledglings make the scene,
The younger chicks are cleverer than their forebears so it seems.
They thrive on education and create communicative skills,
And wonder why their dads and mums were ever born such dills.

Then we have the ‘tinkie’ types; ‘two incomes and no kids’,
They won’t have their life of leisure spoiled by screaming ‘billy-lids’.
They respect each others earnings and live as man and spouse
And share the bills together in a grand old terraced house.

Finally in their later years the species starts to lose its bloom
Less care is taken in appearance, less time there is to groom.
They wear thongs or floppy sandals, take on a brand-new guise,
With baggy shorts and sloppy shirts, or track-suits oversized.

And instead of settling down to rest after forty years of debt,
They grab their superannuation — and try to get rid of it.
Instead of King-Gee working clothes or suits of blended wool,
They buy a flamin’ four-wheel-drive and a caravan to pull.

They migrate to the northern states to suck up sun and leisure,
And hide the fact from others that the van is all their treasure.
They make out that they’re happy and would not be dead for quids,
And sit around a camp-fire — and skite about their kids.

_________________
'Only half the lies I tell are the truth. . . '

G'day Joe,
Yes, they call us the "SKI' generation now. Spending the Kids Inheritance.

Great to read a poem from you. You have hit the subject square on the head. Capturing every phase of development succinctly and without any beating around the bush. Great to see you on the ball. Give us another one.

I was reading through your book (Bush Yarns and Poetry) yesterday and just noticed I didn't get you to sign it for me. I hope you are going to the National Festival next Easter, I will bring the book with me.

Back to the subject of your poem ... Well why shouldn't we spend? We worked our fingers to the bone, sometimes two or three part time jobs at once, to put the kids through Uni so that they now earn, instantly on leaving 'school', more in a week than we did in 6 months. We have told our kids.... You have had your inheritance... it was your education.
Now It is up to them how they use it.

_________________
Zondrae King
a woman of words

In sickness and in health too Zondrae, they come in that category as well.
I remember telling my son when he was seventeen that I started work at three pounds seven and sixpence for a five and a half days week.
I told him that that was equivalent to $6.75 for the week.
He thought I meant per hour.
Now, my seventeen year old daughter Lucy earns $24.00 an hour in a part time job. Bli-me Charlie.

Joe

'Only half the lies I tell are the truth. . . '

_________________
'Only half the lies I tell are the truth. . . '

You know Frank the thing that worried me the most in reading these verses is that one is now enjoying the latter stanzas and the early bit are now memories.

It's a worry.


The Storyteller.

_________________
Some days your the pidgeon and other days the statue.