for the Fur Lackeys – so busy clamouring for a chance
   to paint more spots on Stephanie Guelph’s Guernsey
   cow that they’ve forgotten to decorate
   the other animals & will be punished
for the Amen Hookers – ten thousand blue men
   in a little black book, & what do they do?
   They rescue Gaga from the Gooks;
for the Ha’penny Slammers – wrestled to the ground
   by a sperm papa, all they can think of
   is to hire more shoppers;
for the Snigger Babas – making do with less
   than perfect spunk while they hiss the names
   of those spent villages – Jath, Nalgonda, Kalyani –
   to which they’ll never return;
for the Little Morbids – as serene as children
   in coffins, who’d guess that their yields
   have a yawl factor: Howdy! Apple! Bang!
for the Pulpit Hopefuls – wheel-chaired into
   a snake pit, have they failed to grasp
   that all containers (themselves included)
   are ritual containers?
for the Chacmool Sluts – withered old men perched,
   pieta-like, on their mistresses’ laps, couldn’t
   care (or so they say) how butter-soft
   their mouth-watering poo poos are;
for the Bala Boys – sprawled in puddles,
   have a leakage problem that won’t be solved
   before the show’s over & by then
   it will be too late.




Sissy C Sissy Do

For muscular men it’s a must to give
a max answer. So obvious
that you’ve been carelessly worn, an irresistible attraction
to back-of-the-bus thugs, their dribs & drabs of smacks
pinpointing the greenest part of an otherwise
sprawling vision.
                            Too bad
(no sleeping dogs for you) you just didn’t leave it
for them to wrestle out among themselves, a halt thereby
to every race. O what you wouldn’t give
to do some spooning with this lot, such froth
they whip as scissors & paper
settle into seem.
of a last stand, what are you saving up for? ­ More
gruel? Enough gel for a six day week? Is it time to lamb
but you can’t, that boss you knelt to coming back
to haunt you?
                      Might as well insert your key in (into?)
Miss Fancy Fine’s sky-blue door, love like a tight cannon
the moment you show. It’s a five star tease. It’s much
too confidential to spell it out here. As much
as you’d like to no answer by sissies need be given.





[Philip Hammial has had 26 poetry collections published. His poems have appeared in 25 poetry anthologies (in five countries) & in 108 journals in twelve countries. He has represented Australia at eight international poetry festivals, most recently at Granada, Nicaragua in February 2014. In 2009/10 he was the Australian writer-in-residence for six months at the Cité Internationale des Arts in Paris.]

Copyright © 2014 by Philip Hammial, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.