Monday, April 2, 2012

4. Swampy

Brayden was sick of being a fag
so he gained fifteen kilos of protein shake
and bought a pair of elastic-sided boots.
He stomped around with a throat full of Fourex,
Beasts of Bourbon pouring through his ears.
Nobody fucked with him.

He got a job at the abattoir,
which covered rent, shrooms, groceries,
the occasional pill or hit of coke.
But the parties got dull,
there was nobody much to talk politics with
and he had that one creepy colleague
who relished his work.

So Brayden moved to Fortitude Valley,
and opened a book store.
He sits behind the counter and reads his fag books:
Jane Austen, George Eliot, the Brontes.
Nobody fucks with him.


  1. Your characters put the ch in character!!! Wowow! Brisneyland, yay!
    This fluff comes from an ex-pat on FB, ex-PFFA hoping to return to the Promised Threads one day,

    1. I appreciate the fluff! If you caught Billdozer's poem about Jewish names before the site went down: PFFA is more Jewish than Blogger.

    2. (By which I mean, the fact that we are in exile shows that we are God's chosen people.)