Naked Bunyip Dancing Read online

‘What?’

  I sent a delightful through ball to Ronaldo

  ‘Who?’

  running down the touchline.

  He did a one-two with Emerson,

  the Brazilian midfielder,

  ‘Brazilian?’

  and sent a driving low cross

  to the near post,

  where I dived full-length

  to head the winner,

  with seconds left.

  The Italians were devastated

  as my Brazilian team-mates

  lifted me high on their shoulders…

  ‘Peter.’

  and carried me into the stands…

  ‘Peter.’

  as the samba played loudly...

  ‘Peter.’

  and where the World Cup…

  ‘Peter.’

  was presented to me by the Queen…

  ‘Peter!’

  Yes, sir?

  ‘Sorry, to interrupt the Queen,

  but were you playing your X-box

  last night?’

  Oh no, Mr Carey.

  It was last year

  when I won the World Cup.

  An autumn poem by Billy

  the leaves are gently falling

  like the steady flakes

  of dandruff

  when I haven’t washed my hair.

  A spring rap by the J-man

  It’s spring. It’s spring.

  Shake your shiny bling.

  It’s spring sing the birds

  whistling without words.

  It’s spring shouts the king

  who lives in Beijing!

  It’s spring, yo, it’s spring.

  Let those funky words ring.

  A summer poem by Peter

  Holidays.

  Beach.

  No school.

  Enough said.

  A winter poem by Emily

  ‘Now is the winter of my discontent’

  when dear Romeo and sweet Juliet

  are forsaken

  by yonder class...

  who chose a stupid concert instead49!!

  Michael’s broken remote control

  Dad slumps in his armchair

  with the big blue cushion

  behind his big bald head.

  Mum relaxes on the lounge

  where she can put her feet up -

  her soft lilac slippers

  warming her long pink feet!

  My big sister Stella

  sits on the lounge with Mum.

  She plonks her feet on the coffee table,

  and wiggles her smelly toes.

  I’m forced to sit on the cushion

  on the floor

  in front of the telly.

  Dad says,

  ‘Michael, turn up the volume, will you?

  You’re closest.’

  I lean forward and turn it up.

  Mum says,

  ‘Darling, it needs more colour.

  Fix it will you? That’s a good boy.’

  I adjust the colour.

  Now everyone on television

  has faces pinker than Mum’s feet.

  Stella says,

  ‘Dad, the picture’s all fuzzy.

  Everyone’s got two heads.’

  And sure enough,

  Dad says to me,

  ‘Just move the aerial, son.

  Just a little, to the right.’

  I get up,

  move the aerial,

  fluff my cushion to get comfortable,

  ready for The Simpsons,

  when

  there’s a knock at the door,

  and Mum says,

  ‘Visitors.

  Turn the telly off, Michael.

  There’s nothing on anyway.’

  Questions Mr Carey has

  not answered, yet.

  Mr Carey, if the earth revolves around the sun,

  and the moon revolves around the earth,

  why don’t they crash into each other?

  Sir, if you can grow a beard on your face,

  why can’t you grow a beard on your elbow?

  Mr Carey, why is there an aeroplane

  called the ‘Sopwith Camel’?

  Mr Carey, why can’t men get pregnant?

  Why can’t we see the hole in the ozone layer?

  Why can’t you grow a beard on your knee?

  Why does Dad snore and wake everyone, except himself?

  Why can’t you grow a beard on your bottom?

  Class 6C answer a question

  ‘Class 6C.

  What do you call someone

  who doesn’t eat meat?’

  A feral!

  Poor?

  A vegetablarian.

  A meat-free zone?

  A long-haired, tree-hugging,

  good-for-nothing, layabout hippie.

  (That’s what my dad says, sir.)

  An anti-carnivore.

  A cow!

  (Well, they only eat grass, don’t they, sir?)

  A cool salad dresser,

  Sees animals as no lesser.

  A brussel sprouter!

  A tofu-burglar!

  A soy-beaner!

  Can we go now, sir?

  It’s lunchtime,

  Meat pies and sausage rolls,

  a dollar each!

  If we’re late,

  Year 5 will get them all!

  Anna’s secret

  Emily and Jason

  have kissed again!

  Before school,

  on the bus,

  up the back.

  I couldn’t watch.

  Yuk!

  So I watched!

  Yuk!

  Peter

  Ahmet

  Michael

  Billy

  Sarah

  Alex

  we all watched.

  It was worse than

  Big Brother.

  Worse than Survivor.

  Worse than Australian Idol.

  So we watched.

  No one’s secret

  any more...

  Emily and Jason

  can’t stop kissing!

  True!

  This time they did it

  in the classroom

  before study

  when they thought Mr Carey

  wasn’t around.

  He was!

  Now, they’ve really done it…

  Emily

  I can’t believe it!

  Detention.

  For kissing.

  What will Mum say?

  I’ve never got detention in my life.

  How can Mr Carey do this?

  Especially after I explained

  Jason and I were in love.

  Doesn’t he always sing songs

  about ‘make love, not war’?

  What a hypocrite!

  Jason

  I can’t believe it!

  Emily told Mr Carey we’re in love!

  And I got detention,

  for kissing!

  I’ve got detention before –

  for breaking a school window,

  for swearing,

  for fighting.

  But for kissing

  how embarrassing!

  Alex’s Saturday soccer

  It’s the same every Saturday

  now soccer season has started.

  Mum stands on one sideline

  watching my game,

  drinking her coffee

  and looking nervous.

  Dad stands on the opposite side

  shuffling his feet,

  drinking his coffee

  and watching Mum

  from way across the field.

  When the final whistle blows

  I wait

  in the centre-circle,

  afraid to go one way

  or the other.

  Michael’s weekend treat

  It’s the first meal

  on the first night

  of our firs
t camping weekend ever.

  Mum, my sister Stella

  and me are sitting outside the tent

  watching Dad

  trying to put together

  the brand-new twin-burner deluxe gas stove

  for our first meal

  on our first night…

  ‘If I place this here,

  screw this in,

  tighten,

  stand it on level ground,

  and light…

  Anyone got a match?’

  I can’t resist.

  ‘Sure, Dad. A match.

  How about Stella and a horse!’

  ‘Very funny, Michael,’ says Dad.

  ‘You can apologise to Stella

  by washing up tonight.’

  Stella smiles and keeps reading

  her stupid fantasy book.

  ‘A match, please?’

  Mum hands a box to Dad and says,

  ‘I’m starving. Let’s cook.’

  Dad strikes the match,

  talking to himself,

  ‘Here we go,

  a delicious dinner coming up.’

  He holds the match close to the gas cooker

  turns the knob, and…

  nothing.

  ‘It’s broken!

  $220 and not worth a fig!’ Dad says.

  ‘Try another match,’ says Mum.

  Dad strikes the match and

  WHOOOOOMPHHH!

  Instead of a blue cooking flame,

  an orange flame shoots high and wide.

  Our faces glow

  in the sudden blaze.

  Dad jumps and yells,

  ‘Quick! Run!

  It’s going to blow.

  Run! Now!’

  He reaches for our hands

  ‘Quick!

  It’ll take the whole camp ground if it blows.

  Run!

  Run, I tell you.

  It’ll explode! Run!’

  And as Dad is about to turn and run,

  dragging us behind,

  Mum leans close to the flame

  and puffs really hard…

  The flame goes out.

  Dad is still jumping and yelling,

  waving his arms.

  ‘Run! Run!’

  Then he sees the flame is out.

  The night is perfectly still

  not a sound can be heard…

  Dad slumps on a camp chair,

  and is very quiet for a long time,

  until Mum says,

  ‘Let’s go to the shop, shall we?

  I’d love some fish and chips.’

  Dad nods,

  ‘Sure. We’ll cook tomorrow.

  Let’s have a treat for our first night.’

  Anna and Beyonce

  After school.

  I check our house –

  no one home.

  Mum and Dad at work,

  and my brother?

  Who knows where Roberto goes?

  Time for some secret concert practice.

  I switch on Dad’s karaoke machine,

  search through

  a thousand stupid football songs

  and another thousand soppy love songs

  until I find

  Beyonce.

  I pick up the microphone,

  push play

  and start singing

  and dancing…

  I jump on the lounge,

  I slide along the floor,

  I even add Sharita’s

  hip lifts and belly rolls.

  Over and over,

  playing the same song,

  until,

  sure enough,

  just as I’ve perfected my

  Beyonce bump dance,

  I see my stupid brother

  grinning at the window.

  I bet he’s been there for ages

  and he looks fit to burst.

  I have to get used to an audience.

  I know they’ll all be watching me,

  but Roberto…

  stupid crazy Roberto…

  I hate him!

  Wise things Billy

  has said this term

  When Mr Carey’s eyebrows meet,

  caterpillars grow nervous.

  What’s eleven plus seven?

  Easy, eleventy-seven.

  What happens if you spray Spiderman

  with insect repellant?

  True happiness can be found

  at lunchtime,

  when the canteen is open,

  and there’s no one else in line.

  A dead bird can’t hurt you,

  unless it falls on your head.

  Remember, salt on your chips

  is better than vinegar on your lips.

  Guns don’t kill people,

  lollipops do.

  I can’t read poetry,

  it hurts my head.

  Teachers are like parents,

  only different.

  Parents are like teachers

  that don’t get paid.

  You shouldn’t grumble

  if you stumble.

  Jason, and parents

  I don’t understand parents.

  When I got detention for fighting

  last year,

  Dad was so mad.

  I couldn’t watch television for a week,

  as ‘extra punishment’,

  or as Mum said,

  ‘extra reason not to fight again’.

  And when I got in trouble for

  accidentally

  breaking the library window

  (how did I know

  I could kick a ball that high?)

  I had to do special chores

  around the house

  for two weeks

  to help pay for the damage.

  So, when they find out

  about detention this week,

  for kissing Emily,

  what do they do?

  Nothing.

  Not a single thing.

  And I catch Dad smiling at me

  over dinner.

  And Mum doesn’t say a word,

  except to ask,

  ‘Is Emily that pretty girl

  with the dark hair?’

  And she starts smiling too.

  Peter, in love?

  Do you want a chip?

  She took the whole packet.

  Can I carry your bag?

  She filled it full of books.

  A double-pass to the movies?

  She took her sister, Angie.

  A sip of thickshake?

  She gave me the empty cup.

  Help with homework?

  I did it all, alone, late at night.

  The secret Sarah told me yesterday?

  She told the whole school.

  I offered her my soul, my heart, my hand.

  She said I made her sick.

  That night I cried.

  The next day

  I offered her another thickshake –

  with out-of-date milk.

  She gulped it down.

  Now I really did make her sick!

  Billy, in love?

  There’s far too much love

  going around this class

  at the moment.

  Emily and Jason,

  Mr Carey and his hippie songs,

  and now Peter…

  What would Johnny Rotten say?

  He’d sneer,

  swear once or twice,

  and start singing a song

  about the war,

  or being unemployed,

  or having a wild haircut.

  That’s what this class needs:

  a good spiky haircut.

  I’ll ask Dad,

  when I get home.

  The class respond to

  Billy’s haircut

  Cool and sharp.

  Like a spiny anteater sitting on his head!

  He’s ten centimetres taller!

  He looks like he’s put his fi
nger

  in a power point and been electrocuted!

  Hey, that’s my good friend, Billy.

  Some say his hair looks silly

  But maybe the barber got drunk

  and turned Billy into a punk.

  Whatever you do,

  don’t let him head my soccer ball.

  I think the Prime Minister

  should spike his hair,

  to be just like Billy.

  It looks like he’s poked

  twenty knitting needles in his head.

  Billy the Punk rules, okay!

  Letter to an author

  Dear Author,

  I’m writing this because Mr Carey, my teacher,

  says we have to.

  We like your book.

  It was almost as good as Harry Potter,

  only there weren’t any wizards and stuff.

  We liked the guinea pig.

  We didn’t like the principal. He was mean.

  Billy asked me to suggest you should write

  about football. And ghosts. And goblins too.

  Do you have any children?

  I have an annoying brother and a pet goldfish

  called Max.

  Billy says to say that he had a goldfish

  called Sid Vicious, but it died.

  Do you make lots of money?

  Can you put me and Billy in your next book?

  Billy wants to be the goblin.

  Yours in books,

  Anna Baggio (and Billy)

  Letter to a rapper

  Yo!

  I’m Jackson – but call me J-man, bro.

  Dis letter for my teacher

  he’s an education preacher.

  Made me write a letter

  to a dude who’s better.

  I thought of you – a rapping man –

  cause you can see I’m a rapping fan.

  Do you wear a beanie and hip gear?

  Cruise with a swagger and have no fear?

  That’s cool.

  You rule.

  I wrote a song, you know, a great sound.

  A real hot rhythm called

  Rappin’ in the playground.

  I’ll post it to you next time, if I can.

  Don’t forget me bro, I’m the J-man.

  I am,

  J-man

  Concert practice

  Anna played a CD

  of Beyonce.

  She sang all the words

  and danced around the classroom.

  Billy had shaved his hair,