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By John Mason

Preen those feathers, condition your government-issue leathers.
Intimidating, without a doubt.
Cackle and squawk like the pheasant you are,
Ready to perch on every lowdem tram car.

An overweight and inelegant urban bird.
Repugnantly weak with a razor sharp beak,
Primed to cut a fine from the back pocket of a student,
An unsuspecting Kiwi,
A misdirected moral prudent.

Remember to touch on with your Myki, you say;
Given this boorish and demented oligarchy,
Compliance in this matter is extremely unlikely.

No lies, no waxing words;
I’m too small, staunch, and starving to fuck with you.
I’ll remedy this by making a deal, transparent and true
I’ll identify myself, just take me home with you.

Take me to your three-bedroom weatherboard, your wife, your Shih Tzu,
We’ll have so much fun, fucking without you.
The following morning over cigarettes, French toast, and a bold roast
We’ll propose a toast
to the most emphatically lean, fanatically mean undercover motherfucker,
With a heavy leather jacket that I’ve ever seen.

Sorry asshole, but I’m not sure what you expect
Unyielding and circumspect.
Playing detective while lacking perspective
Should have joined the ADF, you peacock-feathered faggot.

Throw yourself into the job now you’re alone and sad.
That’s too fucking bad.
Pluck those matted feathers, burn those cracked and weathered leathers.
You’re finished, you’re done, you failed tram-cop scum.