Three High Quality, Group Fifty, Feature Races, Including:
The Scotty Stakes; The Dumped Dutton Ledger; The Abbot and Costello Cup.
(“Who’s on First Base? Where is Second Base? What The Fuck Is Third Base?”)
Race One: The Turnbull Cup
Morrie’s scoffing pies in Cairns
Or boxing berries at the farm, in
Selling Aussie voters down, to
Think we’d buy that blokey charm
Where image building efforts try, to
Build his credit on the streets, while
Crossing Queensland’s border lines, to
Boost the margin in those seats, but
As he flies the polls drift down, where
Up-drafts lift the Shorten count, while
All his thermals swirl around, then
Settle at the least amount, so while
He toured he placed a bet – a quid
Each way – on the Turnbull Cup, to
Pick a horse, that broke it’s leg: they
Should have called it “Scotty’s Luck!”
Race 4: Mollison’s Jockey
That’s not a rider but a monkey on his back
With the number ‘2” braced by the letters “TA”
And “PD” printed on the saddle cloth: is that right?
Will the Lib Party stewards let him even, start, to run?
I have to say that it all looks really rather wonky – even
Now – still back at the saddle yard: entering that old cart horse
Smiling-with-surprise, quite stunned, still: being suddenly groomed to
Shine, as new, yet appearing, overcome. Has a blank, blinkered gaze.
