Is it a little gloomy

Is it a little gloomy

To ponder the notion of death

Too close to a Larkin truth

To wonder if Lord of the Flies

Was less a prediction

And more a projection

Of adult fear

We all parent ourselves

From time to time,

Look how that has gone

Before risking a free for all.

Well-Meaning, is another way

Of looking at a newly paved footpath

It can be walked

But may not take you

Where you want to go

How do we know

When the way we think

About ourselves

Is set in stone

Before we grow big enough

To wear long trousers.

Get out of shorts

Before high school, if you can

Australia is, in general

Very weird about

Uniform concordance

Bare flesh anathema,

Unless you are navel-gazing,

Is deemed inconducive

To the promotion

Of a virtuous education

But legs are exempt

From such body shaming.

Double standards

Are twice as bad

As any norm

The worldwide scout movement

Was never for me

With its absence

Of grown-up legwear

Weekend camps organised

By grown-ups who choose

To wear shorts in winter

Is a questionable practice

At the best of time

Even without

Knowing that Kumbaya

Is too godly a reference

To sing around a campfire

Whilst burning

Tinned sausages and beans.

Where would we be without parents

Who care enough

To tell the truth

Set flexible boundaries

Listen to feedback

Are not afraid to be wrong

Admit to learning on the job

And don’t laugh at their own bad jokes

Perhaps then we could look death

Right in the eye

With a greater degree

Of confidence

We might even survive it

With a sense of humour

A wry smile

And our rubber souls intact.