Poetry by
Gregory McIntyre

Outside fair Woolworths we lay our scene, where civil rights make civil hands unclean

WASH MY FUCKIN’ HANDS???

YOU reprimand ME YOU dare to demand ME ME, who paid taxes To get TWO FUCKIN’ VAXES And scan a QR code Before I can go load My trolley with Solo Double salted prosciutto Sebago Potatoes Two kilos Brushed white?

IT’S MY SOVEREIGN FUCKIN’ RIGHT To blow bits of spittle To push past you pitiful Pimply teenager Stanning dictators Your rules are for sheeple Not for sovereign people

Call your manager, go on I’ll punch on and prove wrong He’s a communist, hold on He’ll sing a brand new song

I’m a citizen under the law You want more? See this flyer I got from the net for you liars PROOF TRUMP’S THE MESSIAH!!!!!!

Masks make you gasp Can’t your puny mind Grasp how you ask A elder, a man of my age Who worked hard for a living Who brought home a wage- To- To- Hnnnn

His face turns to ash and he clutches his chest And what happens next is probably for the best