ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

A Hole For my Hip

I reached the old hut at the end of the day.
There wasn’t a bunk or a bed.
I thought, “I will crash on the floor right away” –
So weary, I felt almost dead.

But the floorboards beneath me were ruthless and flat.
Slumber could not gain a grip.
I rested my head on my jacket and hat,
But I needed a hole for my hip.

I found a small axe by the pile of wood.
I chopped at the floorboards with zest.
I thought, “I will sleep as a wanderer should.
Thank God for this axe, it’s the best!”

I lay down once more, but it still wasn’t right.
The sides of the hip-hole cut deep.
I knew I’d be in for a terrible night,
With scarcely much prospect of sleep.

So I made the hole larger. Oh, how the chips flew,
As the blade struck again and again!
I thought, as the hole for my hip grew and grew,
“Yes, now I will lie without pain!”

I tried to lie down, but I tumbled instead,
And fell through this bloody great hole.
I lay on the ground. Would this do for a bed?
Had I finally come to my goal?

I snuggled up warm where I lay on the ground.
I thought, “There is only blip!”
A place most conducive to sleeping I’d found...
But I needed a hole for my hip!

© Stephen Whiteside 21.07.2018

digging a hole for yourself, a metaphor for some politician perhaps ????

Oh Stephen, I love it!

I just told Rod you have written a poem especially for him ... he is the most terrible insomniac, and there hasn't been a bed made that he finds comfortable! Now I know what to buy him for the ideal gift - an axe!

Definitely made me laugh out loud!

Cheers
Shelley

Could be, Neville!

Thanks Shelley. When all else fails...