“Blue!” he calls. “Hey Blueseph!”
His arm is colourful with tattoos.
Blue has shaggy white-blonde hair
beneath a grubby cap
and less teeth than you might expect.
Slowly the foliage is torn away
and palings vanish into a huge trailer
dripping with ivy.
“Yeah, mate. I’m ‘ere.”
“Where’s the post-hole digger, mate?”
“‘S’under the pine tree. Open yer eyes, mate.”
In place of palings
emerges a taller, squarer, greener structure
clear of all the random amendments
wrought by years of plant-growth,
renovation
and careless driving.
One of them confides in me
“Some people we work for
they’re useful, you know.
Like tits on a bull.”
They all look fit
as they drag on skinny cigarettes
and suck down large bottles
of orange energy drinks.
I don’t fit in. I never will.
But I still love the vernacular
the rough, torn-off vowels
and the rich artistry of
straight-down-the-bloody-line.
It’s Aussie.
It’s no fuss.
It’s modern C.J. Dennis
building our fence.
Out of the Cave 
Love it. 🙂
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Thank you! 😊
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This reminds me a bit of the language in “They’re a Weird Mob” the book, not the film, where Nino, the New Australian is trying to understand the talk of his workmates on a building site.
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bloody brilliant; just had a second read: a pithy, fun look at our larrikin language 🙂
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