Just a little sardonic laugh at the Left at my side, often calling itself Australia(?!): A poem 

Anthony Albanese, should you choose what fate you should meet? 

Do you prefer loads of rice, or does it have you beat? 

Or do fish fancy, a pansy, a lot of bread of wheat? 

Or my cock and bull actually gets you to eat a lot of beefy cow-meat? 

If I could only figure out what suits your marinated teeth? 

I’d like to tell you what I’d really love you to greet! 

Would you imagine that your soulmate Saint Paul can daunt me with a stone wall? 

And then, should you believe that the two of you can have it all? 

I save my trumpets for the Phillistine-captured Jericho to fall? 

Do you think you can play your music like the Pope Clement (that you were) with King Philip (PSP), so be your thieved windfall? 

Did you not reap the rabid hybrid, when Sussan Ley made your day? 

Or do you think you could make Littleproud and Angus also pay? 

Who else should cop your lust, may I ask, if I can pray?  

And the Laborers construct a Babel that stands taller than any fable? 

I know (albeit restraint) I can fuck you all before you say your fake grace at the dinner table?