My mother is a dancer
She spins on Friday nights
My father is a miner
He never sees the light
Please bomb my brothers
Though they have done nothing wrong
Marry off my sisters
They’ll be women before long
I myself, play the tambourine
And lack in self delight
You, my dear, will lead the resistance
Of the frank and the impolite
Give each man a ribbon
To tie to his toes
So we may march barefoot
To the beat of rattling prose
Little yellow bastards
Will dive between your thighs
In an attempt to distract you
From the ten delinquent spies
I will create diversions
With whistles and with bells
Weaving to and fro
Avoiding enemy shells
Then I’ll be hit with a golden axe
And writhe on the ground in vain
Run away like winter
And say goodbye to Canaan
I will be apprehended
And though I will not resist
You’ll be able to hear the clamour of my bells
As I rattle- like a bed-ridden tempest
I am the marble-faced pig
And I shall be beheaded over the sink
My heavy head will topple
As I lean in for a drink
Joyfully, the last event
That should be considered important
Was my final vainglorious thoughts
Before my life was shortened:
That when you wear your hair up
Your neck declares the wealth of nations
But your steady hand
Feels like emancipation