Classic Poem

I was brought to the Hospital stony broke,
And the Devil knows how I felt
When the spook that they call " Paralytic Stroke "
Had hit me under the belt.
But Tom Mutch came with some cash and went
And sent his Secretaree
To buy a pair of pyjama suits —
And he sent them along to me.

I'll never forgive and I'll never forget
Till his blessed Government falls.
I'll get Tom Mutch and I'll choke him yet
With his fantod goodnight-alls.
'Twas a cunning trick on an old camp mate
Or a most unmutchly joke:
It was worse than Mr Neuritis is
Or his low pal Parry Stroke.

I dream of politics all night long
In a nightmare blue and grey,
There was never supporter so red and strong
As the Government's got to-day.
My previous rats were meek and mild,
But this is a fiend untied —
I who was from a cradled child
On the Opposition side.

It wakes the wards when I rise to give
The previous Government Hell,
But they go to sleep when I state I live
In a land where free men dwell.
Last night I grabbed at the Sister's tail
Lest an adder escape my clutch,
And all because of the snake charmers
That were bought for me by Tom Mutch.

At my yell of " Withdraw " when her torch-light glares
The old head nurse throws fits,
And my burst of ironical laughter scares
The night nurse out of her wits.
Precedent gibbers and red-tape writhes
From everything I touch,
And all on account of the travel-withs
That were sent to me by Tom Mutch.

" Have you got pyjamas? " the new nurse barked;
And she set it down to the drink
When I only sighed and sadly replied,
" It's politis, I think. "
" And what is politis? " she snapped;
" Do you know what you're talking about? "
And I said, " It is those damned go-to-beds
You wear when your luck is out. "

They brought the Matron in as I rose
To address the chair last night.
I shook my fist in front of her nose
And defied her left and right.
They gave me a dose of the say-good-nights —
I never had swallowed such —
And all on account of the tie-'em-tights
That were devilled on me by Mutch.

They have locked my clothes in the Eastern Tower
For fear of a break away,
And I have to wear, with their baleful power,
The damned striped things all day.
O send me a shirt of the olden times
From somewhere and let me rest.
I'm as mad as the local political crank
In a one-pub town out West.

O send me a rug from the Bunyip Swamp
Of the skins of the rabbit cats,
Or the overcoat of a Worker comp
That's free from political rats.
O send me a rat-proof Editor's pants
Or a leader writer's hide,
Who also writes the political pars
For both and for neither side.

O send me a " wipe " and a safety pin
Or a catalog free of charge,
Or the grass hang-downs of a native gin
That roams on the plains at large.
Or send me a pair of before and behinds
Of feathers from Papua's shore,
That I might escape from the strike-me-blinds
That Tom Mutch bought from the store.

O send me the boards of a sandwich man
And a laureate's wreath as well,
And paint on the front board, " Howl for Hughes! "
On the rear board, " Vote like Hell! "
And I'll go chasing advertisement
Where the poet lovers hunt,
With a barbed tail stuck through the hindmost board
And a prong stuck through the front.

I'll meander round to Macquarie Street
Where the Politicians throng,
And remind Jack Lang with the tail's barbed end
And touch up Mutch with the prong;
And when I'm a decent spook I'll go
To the land that is past a joke,
And touch up Mr Neuritis there
And stroke down Parry Stroke.