The Green Ripper

She heard his Aussie tinged voice
Fall from his sallow Voortrekker skin.
She was mesmerized, intrigued,
Absorbed, confounded,
Stalled in a Sopwith Camel’s dive,
Its Vickers shooting blanks.

Then she saw his maneuvers,
The slant, the sleight, the mission of his craft,
The vacant lies in his voice.
The air grew thin in the altitude,
The lies kept falling,
Tearing holes in their wings.

Just a green ripper,
Suckling on Forex,
Pole dancing for the head on a Rand.
Trolling the Blue Peter,
Sipping on a Willow Switch,
Smug with the taste of key lime.