a Turkish saying

The balding ocker in flannelette

stands impatient at the bar

scratching his balls

as though it might stimulate his thoughts

& sez –

“Whaddaya mean there’s no fucken voi boi?”

“I’m sorry, we only serve Tooheys affiliated products.”

“Tooheys? That’s fucken cat’s piss.”

“Nah mate, you’re thinking of Geelong Bitter.”


The Chef rings her bell for service

& I swear she’s gonna break that thing one day

she’s five foot nothing of sub-continental spice

pound for pound the toughest kitchen bitch

in Fitzroy & Collingwood


“Take these meals out, go on, get out!

No come back here, now go, but come straight back!”


The Mediterranean band plays a song in Greek

I know the tune, but don’t have any idea of the words,

so I make them up:

        “First I eat my Mezze plate, then I have a Souvlaki,

        and I eat some Baklava, Yassou, Yassou!”


The Manager is Scottish, from Glasgow (likes the Rangers)

is fond of pints & frequently uses the term shite

as a noun, an adjective and even as a verb

but never as a superlative,

for which he reserves his favourite continental curse:

“Shizenhauser!”


Turkish customers are arrogance personified

though not as bad as most southern Europeans

but they can’t get their heads around our currency

you see, in Australia we deal mainly in tens & twenties

whereas in Turkey they deal in millions

- you’d need a wheelbarrow to carry a weeks pay -

so when a dozen money-clipped

hookah-perfumed Turkish debonairs

wander into our bar our register is plundered

filling fast with fifties & hundreds

I mean, who pays for a coffee

with note large enough to buy forty of them?


It’s not nearly as bad as the Italian café I worked in

The boss’d say

“Get me latte!”

I’d piss-fart around trying to make the coffee

& he’d say

“What the fuck are you doing? I need a jug of milk.”

An hour later he’d say it again

“Get me latte”

I’d tentatively hold up a small jug

“You useless fucking mongrel.”

He’d say, as he pushed past to make the coffee himself.


My wandering thoughts are broken by a

“Rum & coke mate”

I reach for the bundy

“aw fuck no! I want Bacardi. White rum.

Where’re you from anyway.”

Queensland

“Splains it.”

He says this as though my revelation

has set to rights some violent upheavals

in his piss, pot & pussy obsessed mind


& all the while the boss sits in the corner

shaking his head

smiling a sly Turkish grin

muttering under his breath

        "Australians, they make me like this."

he says, holding his hands in front of his crotch

        "Busta ma balls."