Tripping down to unchain the convict chooks*

the fence is         flash-mobbed by a         surge

of mop-topped, mugger sheep

complaining their throats have been cut, they're THAT

bllllaaaaah-dy haaaaahnnn-gry (bloody hungry)

You lot are not corpulent - you're corpusclent, full as ticks.

I wouldn't cuddle up too lustfully against the fence,

Black Knees, you over-fed ewe - you...

rolling your wicked, goatish eyes,

expecting juicy handouts.

No sense of self-restraint. No dignity either.

Well,

one small prick from barbed tine and you will

PoP!

Puss and blood geysering out.

I'd be blood-barfed, you great ball of guts,

stop head-butting the gate, yer thug

no brain, no pain, patently - four-stomached metaphor

for Greed,

I'm not letting you in.

The orchard's lamb-deep in clover, could lose a dozy calf in it.

You'd founder* yer whale-sized twit*

if I let you have your way with it,

eat it out in an arvo,* I'll bet,

strut away conceitedly bloated,

head smugly up,

nostrils, shotgun-flared,

denying a single luscious clover leaf had passed your guilty, green-stained lips.

*chooks are chickens in Oz-Speak. They're not really chained up, but their door is.

*founder - usually used for horses (appropriate) - to become ill from over-eating.

*twit - pregnant goldfish (appropriate) and slang for someone stupid.

*arvo short for afternoon.