Classic Poem

lived his life like barbed-wire
is what an old girlfriend said, man of
the river. But then, life finished you
off bit-by-bit though couldnt pluck out
your dingo-bright eyes. Lets face it,
you were pretty much an arse-hole
to those who knew you. Most of us just
bash the trees without seeing the kangaroos.
You saw living mostly for what it is,
a part-time job with bugger all security;
the occasional softness of a woman,
maybe, and of course grog by the bucketful.
What was it you saw at the last, Dave,
when passing through the ripped canvas of a
thunderstorm, lightning flashing down the
Hawkesbury, a good belt of rain after?