Ode to W B Yeats


Where are your middle-class heroes?

Who rules your whited tower?

It becomes apparent

Through your faceless shows

Of dumb, blind power

That no-one knows.


It could be Johnny Howard

Or Kevin Connie Rudd

It could be just your Honda-car

Stemming the petrol flood


Huddle now altogether

Pats on each other’s backs

Ye bastion of the church’s tether


Your children out on midnight binge

What a land of double faces

This great cultural cringe

“I felt a brief reposing silence,

so I thought I’d have a winge.”