A poem for .. David Seymour
New Zealand's semi-official poet laureate Victor Billot pens topical verse every Sunday. Today: David Seymour
I, David Seymour
I, David Seymour. A lonely voice for freedom
A voice for the rights of the propertied, and enlightened reason.
Like Milt Friedman, I say it’s your right to choose!
I am John Galt stalking Remuera’s leafy avenues.
I fought for Western civilisation, for many a year.
I said no to tax, for each ten cents shedding a tear.
But now fascism is casting a shadow over our fair land.
Queen Cindy’s one party State is close at hand.
To despots I proclaim: I have no time for your Treaty!
On principle I REFUSE to holiday on Matariki!
Now comes the moment I have long feared.
From my condo I hear a heavy tread on the stairs.
THUMP THUMP THUMP, go the boots of the Thought Police Stasi.
This is how it ends for this fearless fighter of PC Femi Nazis.
BANG BANG BANG, goes a leather gloved fist on my door.
I am ready to pay the price of their tyrannical laws.
There on my step is a man in a bright red tracksuit.
There’s no one else there, just this funny old coot.
He has a name tag that reads “Information.”
Kia ora bro, he says, I’m from the Ministry of Vacations.
I’m here to remind you, this is a public holiday.
Now I have told you, I will be on my way.
I stare slack-jawed at his retreating back.
He walks off down the street whistling, just like that.
I turn around and think, well I don’t know.
Maybe I’ll give this holiday thing a go.
But when I look around, there is no one else there.
What is the point of a holiday that you can’t share?
Life is about work, work, work – that’s all we must do.
Humans take up precious work time (and goldfish do too.)
So I sit down with my iPad in my luxury dunny
and make a big spreadsheet of all of my money.
That fills in the first hour and makes me feel swell.
But when morning tea comes I have no one to tell.
I glare out the window. This holiday is no fun.
And if I can’t have any, why should anyone?
* Made with the support of Creative New Zealand *
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