Hammered into dum-dums,
Spit-lead dead drops spatter the slates.
The sussurate orange flame,
Or mutter of some football game radio
And even the sausages dragged
Spitting and snarling from the pan
Are drowned by torrential rainforest rhythms:
A roof rattle jungle, no tune and all beat -
Don't dance no more, can't be fagged,
Not since the stool hit the fan,
Burst the balloon and and lost my feet.
Time was..... it could be worse;
We also serve who only stand and stare
At chaos twisting on the patio,
Wallflowers cowering in the jardiniere.