Classic Poem

Hi Ho! Hi Ho! But theyve been
laid off. Round Oberon, the town
spirit flat as a plank; then fury knots
in pubs. The big rigs aim chrome
cowlings at Canberra, Convoy! through
the ring roads to circle Parliament House
wagon-style. Hey, you cant knock
it: logging by generations for
generations have trod them down. Count
the rings of the rigs revving. Each
logger raw-red, necks blood-throttled.
Say what, anger? You can put a ring
around that, champ. Hi Ho! Hi Ho!