Summer Solstice 2017: diary of a good year

Saw Alexander Putin waiting for a latte extra hot
They utterly failed to call him Put-in, not Poo-tin
I don’t know why he didn’t tell them call me Al
Now he’ll badmouth Melbourne coffee snobs at Summits.
As if Turnbull wasn’t bad enough in the queue
Deciding who and on what terms we would get mugs.
All I can depend on is the rain. 

The mighty cycle wheelwright robot of Dandenong:
No condition of special treatment and never was a banker,
I suspect its second career will run to dancer or neurosurgeon
But I would like to see it pulling coffees at ten to nine
Its citizenship unquestioned because an owned thing
Rights in the clear because it got no rights to speak of.
And all it can depend on is the rain. 

Now I that I am and grown to be a man
With a hey-ho and thicker every way
A little book is like a fire
And the rain it raineth every day. 

Like the preschooler sulking in her gutter
We forgot the good activities we got there
Let the bad things run away with the silver
Just because we were tired that afternoon
And had the headache. Is it so amazing that
We have worried that we have arrived at the final finish?
All we can depend on is a category five storm. 
All that is certain is grass. 

A hundred trillion bacteria can’t be wrong.
No damned oligarch or damned AI has them,
The solecism I trust I never uttered is down to them,
The guts to have a biome underrated:
All that was my enemy isn’t just pretending friendship
It’s me unrecognised all co-evolved in this mirror for all these ages–
And it’s pretence got me in this pickle in the first place.
For goodness sake go outside the rain is fine.

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