Ode To L.F.

A rhyming poem

A fox in her limo 

beating the traffic

A fox in my ear, all 

guttural static

A good Fox is a dead fox, but 

let me explain

A good Fox is a dead fox, that’s

Fox as in the name

My sisters are twins,

Think of it this way

One egg and two yolks

(DeCinquian) display

Spring got them up

For a gruesome sight

The door didn’t shut, 

Hungry fox, rigged fight 

Julia Gillard and my Versace 

Dismembered in the yard

Buzzing broken Hitachi 

Stupid little birds

Barely an egg all season

Still, we found it sad

That my sisters had to see them

A good Fox is a dead fox, with

An engine for a brain

I think about my  chicken, 

with the Italian name

Limp small bedraggled, 

she hated the rain

I think about work

I think about shame

I think he played footy

Australian rules

Then switched to petrol, fill

Australian pools 

3 billion chickens 

Gundagai flood

3 billion dollars, his paws 

covered in mud

A Fox is a truck is a road is a mine

A museum is a Fox with a cleared name in time

Soft drink in the Summer 

1956

And fuel in the Winter, 

Kingpins swing their dicks

There’s blood on your hands

and feathers in your bed

A good fox is a spread fox

Roadkill, dead