☕️🌻Rusty’s Grill

You could be a hillbilly or own a whiskey still,
And it doesn’t matter if you’re healthy, or living on pills,
Maybe you’ve seen a lot of life, and you’re not run of the mill,
And you drink at the Town and Country with a bearded chap named Phil,
Your pie and chips may appear hip, as you sip a beer like Slim,
But we can lighten your load on the frog and toad, where animals lose an odd limb,
Cause you’ll reach the top, of cuisine then you’ll stop,
As you connect with animals that are freshly splot,
While travelling, you can surely eat on the trot,
Be one with nature, and still believe in conservation,
As you dine at Rusty’s Grill.

Wasted wombat was once a happy chap,
Galloping over fields and dale,
And Wombat’s friend thought their love wouldn’t end,
That their lives would be hearty and hale,
But the traffic encroached, and landholders poached,
And trees were felled end to end,
And indigenous folk, think wasting food is a joke,
Till there’s roasted wombat around the bend.

Decimated dingo sounds like a bad type of bingo,
Only Asians are keen to eat dog,
But if you get in the road, of a truck with its load,
You’re in danger of losing your jingo,
While crumpled koala, may turn up in the parlour,
Only indigenous can eat this one baked,
Expired emu works well, in a stew, I heard tell,
Wine and garlic give a shake to emu or snake,
Aren’t you sorry for the birds that get no flavours I’ve heard,

With lizard that’s levelled and platypus gus,
If it all tastes like chicken, what appears to be the fuss,
What brings on this explosion of culture, you may ask,
If we’re taking work from eagles and vultures, you might want to pass;
And stick to what you catch in yonder nearby lake,
With lemon and butter, it’s a pleasure to bake,

It all started when jacky jacky my indigenous friend,
Found a ruptured roo, on a gravelly bend,
He assured me it was warm, it was bled and the shoulder he sent,
With wine and garlic, it made a casserolic scent,
We had American visitors, that almost licked the bowl,
They loved our bush culture,
It was food for the soul,
This was blueberry hill,
Where Gourmets thrill and stroll,
Just being one with nature,
Eating symbols of Australia,
With no trace of consternation,
Queue up and be patient,
To dine at Rusty’s Grill is a worthwhile goal.

About John
John started out as a cadet in 1970 at Bundaberg News Mail, continuing as a feature writer at Rockhampton Morning Bulletin, then began producing regular freelance articles for the Sunday Mail and New Idea. Later he took up science writing for Qld climate, water and soil scientists. Whimsical stories and humorous bush poetry is his current passion.

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