THE SHACK

You’d better like your flatties,

If you’re coming to the shack,

You’d better like your sauso’s

And your lamb chops good and black.

~

You’d better like your screen doors

With a squeak and then a bang,

Your cricket match with salt

And your night’s sleep filled with sand.

~

 You’d better like your mornings

Infused with motor oil,

And your evenings spiced with smoke

From the back deck mozzie coil.

~

You’d better like your children

Grubby, loud and tangle haired,

Your afternoons with snoozes

And your choccy soft and shared.

~

You’ll have to like your noons

With beers or bloody marys,

Your nights starlit, your books dogeared

Your spiders bloody scary.

~

Yes at the shack you’ll have to take

Your tea in mismatched cups,

Your towels with frays, your knives with blunt,

Your leavings with cleanups.

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Categories: Stories & Poems

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