… with a forties
God above,
Brylcreemed in
an Air Marshall’s uniform
to ladle out the
weather,
I walk through the
bunyip cloisters
of Telopea Park High
School
(where some of the
boys wear dresses),
hair cascading down
my back to defy the Principal,
not dreaming I’d
be living in the
same dreary megavillage
fifty years later,
beneath the Brylcreemed
God of fifty years earlier.
Oh, I like Canberra (the place) and find it far from dreary! But I like this poem too, particularly the image of a Brylcreemed God. (Unlike that scruffy fellow Jesus.)
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