Vegemite Replies
that imposter-poet
who sang of missing Marmite
and lost soap-bubble-dreams
and abandoned dresses
forgotten hallways
clutter and treasure and all manner of junk
she is a mis-fit, a mis-take, a mis-belong
homeless, wanderer: heart in a shoebox
but forgive her
she keeps a locker stuffed with
Vegemite
love letters and lipstick stains
lost voices, sepia snaps
and tangled laces:
the perfume of wintering geraniums
dank basement concrete
and worn rubber boots
become her
the shoebox overflows
6 comments:
Bout bloody time! Three cheers for Vegetime and down with the imposter.
" We're happy little vegemites
as bright as bright can be
we da da da da etc":)
We're all happy little vegemites as bright as bright can be
we all adore our vegemite for breakfast lunch and tea
... it puts a rose in ev'ry cheek!
Do you know that vegemite was first named 'parwill' - or that is the story my mum tells, and she would know.
I never said I prefered Marmite - only that I was flexible, I sacrifice myself for M so that he can enjoy it un-hindered.
It was meant as an existentialist question ...
Beautifully written though it was, the reply to your existential question was a disappointment. Vegemite, in deed! Perhaps you could have a epilogue and extract the full existential potential?
My memory is of Marmite up until mid WW2 when imports from England were stopped and our taste for salty axle grease was satisfied by Kraft's Vegemite. Then Marmite never recovered, even though German U-boats were removed from our trade routes.
You can lose you citizenship for making a statemento like that SR. You know how v is revered here. I think you should be exiled to a small island in the South Pacific and forced to drink crates of that poisonous Dr Jurd's Jungle Juice.
Yes, I know the Wollombi Tavern very well.
I know Vegemite. A dear friend married an Aussie, so when I visited we sampled. Wonderful, winsome, melancholy poem and you are no imposter-poet! You WOW me, every poem!
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