Thursday, December 6, 2012


Here is the first poem I did at the finals last Saturday night.


Liking a Facebook page is not activism,
Even if you comment in ALL CAPS to show how much the issue angers you. 
And failing to repost or share does not mean I don’t care.

As if cutting and pasting is taking some sort of political stand.

All you are doing is using an online sink to wash your hands.

I don’t know what caused this rant. I’m just waiting for my mocchacino. 
I start to argue, ‘I...,’ but the barista continues. 

You are not doing your bit for the underprivileged of the world. 
The only reasons you sponsor two children in Laos and a Kenyan girl 
Is not that World Vision’s vision matters, but your vague sense of guilt 
And a weakness for cute Irish backpackers.

And just because you went to an inspiring rally in the park in September 
Does not make you the Social Justice League of Australia’s newest member, 
Even if John Butler went off madder than at Falls and the 
Vegan cupcakes were totally amazeballs.

You jump on every cause without pause ignore your own flaws don’t deplore the lack of thought for the poor or our refugee laws just wear your latest support like the hair on your jaws the skinny jeans in your drawers just one more sort of fashion you’ve bought expecting ironic applause; only this thing is sure: you’re after reward for your one true cause: 


Now, this isn’t right. John Butler’s my bro. 
But the more I try to stand up, the harder she goes. 

You make pointed but witty tweets hashtag qanda 
Then wait to see your user name appear below Tony Jones’ face.

You sit in cafes writing political poems which leave 
Then shout them from a stage waving your arms about.

You can join every GetUp! campaign and still be a jerk. 
That will be $3.80 for your coffee, thank you sir.

This is like some really bad trip. There is no way I'm leaving a tip. 
I say under my breath as I leave with my coffee, 
‘Fascist. ‘I’m totally glad that you dumped me’.

1 comment:

  1. Thanks, I'm glad I stumbled on you.