ROO SHOOTING GST
(This poem is dedicated to my mate "Casper")
He stands in my office, his face is deep brown,
His dial is a worry, contorted with frown;
"Strike me dead cobber, It's just beyond me,
What the devil this is – this new GST":
"Some joker from Canberra rings me outback,
And reckons I gotta tell em what I flog on the track;
Well strike me dead cobber, a form DE8?
He reckons I got one and that I'll be late":
"I can't understand it, it's well beyond me,
.243's are no worries, or me old .303;
But I don't own a dozer and me truck's broken down,
I borrowed a lift just to get into town":
"Windmills – no problem and I can sure fix a gate,
But what is this mongrel, this form DE8;
It must be important, to someone, somehow,
I don't understand it, this GST row":
"Who's behind it all cobber, this Howard you say,
What does he do and where does he stay;
Fair dinkum cobber? Never heard of the bloke,
Are you on the line matey, or is it your little joke":
"There at the post office, I get all this mail,
Of tail or head make it, I just have to fail";
He chucks me a grin and says with a smile,
"You sort it out cobber, I must make a mile":
He turns on his heel and strides off with glee,
Leaving me with it, this damned GST;
He's back in the dust, burning up miles,
GST sorted – Roo Shootin' style: