I never liked it here anyway.
Too sodding hot, and it
Was always a two star hotel;
Full of Saddam’s jeering and poking
Children, the poor bloody workers never had time
To come and see the likes of me.
I’d only been here for a couple of years,
Out of Bengal by way of those
Prick traders in Thailand
Who’d make their money
Out of their mothers’ fingernails
If there was nothing else.
At least I didn’t get to be
Some kind of imaginary aphrodisiac.
Always a bit of a loner, me.
It’s the way I liked it.
My ancestors were big game for the Brits and Rajahs; then
For a while the boots were on the other foot
Though the villagers didn’t taste so good
After nuclear power settled in.
I never touched the water myself,
Instincts too bloody strong.
Of course those fools weren’t afraid,
Too busy dreaming
Of dancing girls, bad disco music
and Toyota Landcruisers.
That’s where religion gets you.
Just what I could do with now,
A nice fat tasty priest…
But this is where we’re at:
Since the zoo went
I’m skulking in the alleys like a common mog.
The trigger happy Yanks
Are blowing everything away
Whether it moves or not;
There’s not much cover left.
The locals are locked in cellars
With the remains of the food
Getting their stories ready
For the inquisition
So they can be the next oppressors.
Where the fuck does that leave me?
It’ll be a long time
Before the zoo’s back in shape
And I’m not so sure
I could strut my stuff
With the Stars and Stripes
Hanging over me like a shroud.
Best thing is to leave town,
Follow the stink of death from the desert.
I could live off the odd goatherd
And even an unwary vulture
Or two, not to forget
The goats themselves.
Undoubtedly the Yanks have the city
In a theoretical ring of steel.
I have to find my way out
Without scaring too many brave
Soldiers, or it’s curtains.
Here goes…
© Pete Brown
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