What about the Muslim boy who brass hooks the elephant
And Teaches me
Her behind the ears of her giant thump head.
What about the Muslim boy who I wish to be unleashed upon
What about the Muslim man who
waits to ruin me
with the guilt of generations, White man pays.
White man pays, white man pays, white man pays because he is a greedy pig.
Granny and I sit looking for tigers on top of swaying backed thump thump head
Boy's feet kick kick bare foot behind her ear.
Good natured beast bends
To his Ankus hook. He turns around white teeth smile at me
I am shrill
Sweat drips down boney spine of mine because I am thin and only thirty birthdays old Looking
Looking for tigers in a weak jungle,not as it once was
But now as it is when white man pays.
White man pays to see
The mythical tigers been shot for mantles waiting.
I tell granny to whisper incase she frightens him,
Where are you?
More sweat in this limp empty jungle, shirts damp, Granny mops her brow.
He lets me drive now.
I climb forward, Granny breaths sharply
As I sit legs touching the boy
Astride the elephant's neck, touching.
I pretend that Granny is not there,
that Granny is not on the seat behind us,
that Granny is not wearing her white lace gloves,
that Granny is not clutching her ridiculous pocket book.
"Isn't this lovely darling?, Isn' t this lovely....?"
"SHHHH" I snap because she is ruining my mental fuck with the Muslim boy.
There is nothing in the jungle, only birds make noises.
We see some dung, and a slidey jawed water buffalo too sleepy now.
Not creeping alive with sounds and electric tricks high wire tip toeing, snap, no
But Once upon a time she slept sweetly on British raj pillow
With mummy and daddy and a ghost who stood at the top of the stairs, the one who looked out from the window,
the one you could only see from the lawn
Once she had servant girls to brush her hair
Once she had boys to saddle her pony
Once she had cooks and maids and jewels and parties and feather clips to pin on.
But like on a freeway so fast...
Don't look! It's dead.... no it's just a palm tree frond but one always looks for guts when the world changes.
Independence sent the white man packing
Servants became masters
The masters escaped some with their lives
and some with their pocket books.