Sepia toned CCTV, man leaning
Forward slightly, easier carrying the pail
Of paraffin, petrol or oil to ignite the demeaning
Treatment he received at the end of his asylum trail.

Entering banks, asking for money; not as if they’re short
Muslim from Myanmar, came via the Christmas Isle.
Do the tellers share a sidelong glance – how the nutter does besport
Himself? Knowing his Xmas trimmings will never arrive.

‘All his clothes were dripping off, and skin,
It fell piece by piece on the carpet.’
Dousing the flames, the action man’s a real larrikin
Aussie hunk – not now’days often called upon to flaunt it

Today his g’day instincts are held beyond reproach
Life-saving sees off the more censorious approach