Mother State

I see the photo in the paper—
The Herald, 26th September, '79:
bold letters decree, "Spectators restricted—
twenty-four cans each
at the Melbourne Cricket Ground."

A window to the day
when lawmakers perfected
the fine art of saving you from yourself—
refining freedom,
pressing it into cheap conformity.
Society laid morality atop absurd law,
social media spread it like gospel
to the desperate flock.

Instead of shouting "stop,"
you open the door—
beckon Big Brother with a smile.

A trip to the MCG now—
queuing for a single light beer,
one grim can at a time,
barely a murmur.
You are protected,
protected from yourself,
by a loving government.

Now, we celebrate rules,
impose them on others—
personal tastes
dressed as public interest.

Because one old woman
finds drunks unsightly,
feels they invade space,
we strip their right to drink.

And if that’s so,
let drunks band together,
declare poetry unproductive,
ban it for national efficiency.