Down And Out in Nelson and Stoke
On the fuckin’ benefit.
His case manager Te Aroha gives him arseholes.
A right fuckin’ rark up.
Doesn’t want to thin apples,
Doesn’t want to fillet Hoki.
Just wants to write about the psychic elements
And the topography of impinging dimensions
Not much good being a smart cunt if he’s sitting at home on the dole
Not working for his money.
Te Aroha’s had a bloody gutsful
And so has Raelene
No more going to the drags,
No more car shows at Rangoon,
No more midget stock car racing
Til he gets his fuckin’ act together.
He thinks he a smart cunt,
Says he can invert mental polarities
And formulate a geometric model for translating
The operations of higher dimensions into the lower,
But he can’t even remember his 9-digit client number
Or where he last saw his community services card.
Te Aroha has just about lost all hope,
Raelene is sick of Hell’s Angels knocking on the door
Looking for Hermes after selling them a bad batch.
Maybe what he needs is to sort his shit out,
Go on an Outward Bound course,
Might get his foot in the door with the army,
Maybe even an apprenticeship.
Maybe he could do his fork-lift licence,
Or maybe go back and finish his School Certificate,
Instead of poring through the Necronomicon
Or scrying alien constellations.
Simon P. Murphy is the author of His Master’s Wretched Organ.