The Fire Chief relaxed
As he sat down in his chair
He’d just come home from watching his son play soccer
“I can’t believe it,” he cried aloud, with a touch of flair
“My bloody son has had another shocker.”
“That boy,” he said, “I trained him,
Took him up the park
To play, and kick, and catch all day long.
It never sunk into him that foot went before the ball,
I always knew that there was something wrong.”
The Fire Chief, he reclined in chair
Good and bloody proper
Before he heard a siren near
Too late for him to stop ‘her.’
Brring, brring, it went, brring, brring again
The red phone woke him from his slumber
Realising his wife was not at home
He hoped ’twas a wrong number
“Alright, I’m coming,” he shouted at the phone
Knowing no-one could hear him.
But the phone went dead, “Damn it,” he said
“Bugger, Jesus, f_ck ‘im.”
The Fire Chief’s face had turned a frown
He now knew somethin’ wasn’t right
“Another bloody summer,” he thought
“They’ll need me there to fight.”
So the Chief hopped in his car that sunny day
And whizzed down the main street playing
‘Jerusalem’ on his radio
As he thought his villagers weren’t staying.
“Shit. There’s a fire in my village,”
He could see the burning embers
I must get down to help,” he cried
“Or it’ll be like last September.”
‘If I don’t take charge the villagers
Will think; ‘Where was our Fire Chief that day?’
And I’ll live to regret it,
I may as well just walk away.”
“Johnny, tell the villagers I’m on my way
To save them from their grief.”
“What’s that? You can’t hear me?
For God’s sake man, it is your Fire Chief.”
Watch and act alerts were now
Being posted on TV stations
Stay if you must, leave if you can
As the villagers lost their patience.
Arriving in t-shirt and shorts
The Fire Chief made a dash
For the change rooms where he soon got dressed
Ready for the ‘bash and crash.’
The Fire Chief was now in charge
Dressed in Fire garb
“Let’s work as a team
To save villagers’ homes,” he roared
“Like those of George and Debbie, Bill and Barb.”
As the day progressed, the bushfire
Attracted TV in all its glory
They’d come with newscasters galore
To create a big news story.
“I could be a star,” the Fire Chief thought
“It’ll be my fifteen minutes of fame.
I must get an interview with Seven, Nine and Ten
Before the fire starts to wane.”
“Fire Chief,” the stations asked him,
“What next for the red embers?”
“We’ll fight the good fight, toil through Hell we might
So we don’t revisit Red September.”
“Ahhh, yes, Fire Chief, that was Hell-ish for sure
We lost a few that day.”
“But think back further, to times of yore
And all we could do was pray.”
As Fire Chief stood, tall and straight
Talking to reporters
His team put out the fire, ‘Hoo-ray’
Giving not a quarter.
So the fire waned, saved by the bell
The Fire Chief’s team were fearless.
“Fire Chief, you’ve done well,” the networks said,
“Your efforts have been peerless.”
The Fire Chief said; “Thank you Holy Father,
Thank you Jesus Bloody Christ.
Now I can have a beer,
Better still, make it whisky, and bloody-well on ice.”
He’d saved the villagers after all (or so he thought)
His wife, she was so proud.
But that whisky, “One’s fine, maybe two,”
Any more she’d not allow.
The Fire Chief took all the credit,
His face appeared nation-wide.
He ‘thumped his chest’
“Man, I’m the best.”
Yes, he suffered from false pride.
Brring, brring, brring brring, The phone rang,
This time the private line.
“Fire Chief, is that you? It’s the PM here.
What’s that old man? Oh, I’m fine.”
“We want to share our love around
And throw your villagers buckets of money.
A hundred million, maybe more.
What? A joke? Man, this ain’t funny!”
“I’ll be making an announcement on Seven, Nine and Ten
That my government will spend a hundred mill
When will we disburse it you say? I know not when,
But my binding promise is to say we will.”
The long hot summer, well, it cooled
Global warming had failed the nation
The whole episode, the villagers thought
Had been one bloody big sensation.
sensualism 