I know I don’t love food,

but the New Year brings a mood

for eating both burritos and doritos.

But eating on the patio

on the table that’s quite ratty, oh!

I wish I could escape those damn mosquitos.

  My dog basks in the Sun,

and I’d think that to be fun

if my skin didn’t have a tendency to burn

And even though there’s nothing

to be done today, there’s nothing

that is fun today, but for winter I can yearn.

  I dream of falling snow,

of the icy chill – and oh!

how I’d love to wrap myself up in a scarf.

But here is where I’m stuck

and I just don’t give a fuck

if people hear me whine until they barf.

  That’s the thing about Australia.

In the summer, it’ll fail ya.

Cooling down with apples, you have to core them.

But sadly, I have allergies –

No, there’s no analogies

But the thing is, I should’ve just lived northern.

  Perhaps in Spain or Italy

Or somewhere that’s more middley

(but not a place that’s close to the equator).

I mean in central Belgium

or in Greece or France. I’d tell them

that to me they would be adequate to cater.

  I think I’d get a job

with a friendly kind of mob.

Perhaps I’d like to work with cute animals.

Maybe with some cats

or rats, or maybe bats

but preferably not with any cannibals.

  I think that overall

I’d like to throw a ball.

And care for a number of dogs, probably, say, nine?

’Cause nothing beats the joy

of saying, “Who’s a good boy?”

to a lovely, begging, barking, bouncing canine.

  I think I’d work with huskies

wearing colours that are musky.

I think I’d like to count how much they bark.

I simply think that it’s a thing

that really is worth listening

to. I’ve already got experience from the park.

But to count how much they bark

I’d need a way to mark,

so I’d invest in a simple bark ticker.

And huskies need the cold.

So do I – I’d be so bold

to move all the way to Antarctica.