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An attempt to write something anything in one go and release, iterate and improve later if I take it further.

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

Day 6 - An ode to Banjo Paterson's 'Mulga bill'

Quick note this is an ode to A.B. "Banjo" Patersons poem 'Mulga Bill' first published in 'The Australian' News Paper in 1896.

’Twas Hipster Bill, from Surry hills, that caught the fixie craze; He turned away the good old gears that served him many days; He dressed himself all in flannel and skinny jeans, resplendent to be seen; And hurried off to Berts ‘Spokes and wheels’ to get himself a new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, his Birkenstock's a slapping. The sweet and smarmy service agent cried, ’S'cuse me, sir, can you ride?’

‘See here my sweet thing,’ said Hipster Bill, ‘From the bike trails in the mountains to the BMX bowl by the sea. from Little Bourke to Ballarat, there’s none can ride like me. I’m good all round at everything as everybody knows, although I’m not one to talk, I am a hipster and that shows. Hipstering is my sole delight, my special gift, my purpose in life. I can brew a beer that all the wine drinkers drink and berate drivers when they drive. Riding my bikes is my special thing, my way to save the world, doing the hipster thing. Just ask a banker for a dollar, or a consultant for the time.  There’s nothing covered in tape or paint or built of carbon or steel, there’s nothing that rolls, on one wheel or two, but what I’ll sit, while lycra will hold and cleats and straps are tight, I’ll ride this here brakeless concern right straight away at sight.’

’Twas Hipster bill From Surry hills, that sought his own abode,
that perched above Rafa’s shop, beside Sydney Road.
He turned the fixie down the hill and mounted for the fray,
but ‘ere he’d gone a dozen yards; it bolted clean away.
With no brakes in sight and no way to stop, he mounted the kerb.
He flew down the slope towards what was Rafa’s store.

he shaved a granny by half an inch, and dodged a big white dog;
The very mamil’s* he despised sipped their latte’s and smiled.
The student's faces in their phones were oblivious to his dilemma,
as Hipster Bill, as pallid as ever, clenched his bum to the leather.
He struck a step and gave a spring that cleared a homeless beggar,
he raced beside a policeman van as close as close could be,
and then as Hipster Bill let out one last shriek, the bike made a final rush of twenty feet into the rafa stock, running amok.

’Twas Hipster Bill, from Surry Hills, that slowly dis-entwined.
He said, “I’ve had some nearer shaves and lively rides before, I’ve ridden a unicycle around Australia, but this was the most awful ride of all.  I’ll give that brakeless beast best, it’s shaken all my nerve, it’ll be brakes and lycra henceforth for me, Hipster Bill.

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