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If motorbikes took drugs, Harley-Davidson would beef up on steroids If cars drank liqueurs, Celica would slake on Bailey’s Irish Cream If fridges turned musos, they’d perform the Humming Chorus from Madama Butterfly If beds wrote their memoirs, Capt’n Snooze would be a wet blanket If closets came out to visit a psychoanalyst, they’d bitch about desertion by young gays If clouds wore raincloaks, every cloak would have a silver lining If mountains moved, Buffalo would stampede from the Chalet If lakes meditated, Pedder would change its name to Woebegone If rain forests could read, Daintry would turn a blind eye to pulp fiction If rainbows fell out of love, they’d build a bridge of sighs If fur seals formed clubs, they’d bash the living daylights out of fishermen If pigs flew, who’d snuffle for truffles? If chickens could swim, they’d wallow in the blood of factory farmers If monkeys became medicos, chimpanzees would research research scientists If rats smoked, they’d die If treasurers were touched by ST, they’d make their balance sheets more healthy If police knocked bribery and corruption on the head, they’d be charged with a capital offence If estate agents were for real, they’d admit to a shingle short If white-collar crims were castrated, they’d be laundered squeaky clean If rock stars played silent radio, they’d stop shaking the air waves If poets stumbled upon a bed of diamonds, they’d freeze

Michael Small

January, 1991

published Centoria, no.6, April, 1999