Walking along a winding road
which leads to nowhere in particular,
in need of fresh air and a cup of warm tea,
i met a young man in a Dylan tee shirt
with eyes that were bright and a smile that was fake
and a hat with a brim that was flat
on a head way too small for the hat on his head,
Who told me the way to a long happy life
was the choice that i made at the crossroads ahead,
and that if, when i reached it, i turned back around
he’d meet me for coffee at Malabar Joe’s
on the fifty-first floor of Le Crappé Hotel,
but he wouldn’t hang about for too long, for the
java Joe brews don’t wait for swine like meself.
At which point i wound up my arm like a spring and
punched him full force on the tip of the brim
of his hat, then carried on merrily humming a tune, which
Mummy-ji told me, later that day, sounded almost
but not quite like a song from the film on the
life of the fella who fell far from grace right into
the arms of pious and holy Pir Asaf Jah,
Who gave him a kiss and a leash not too long
and took him along for short walks on the lawns
of the palace he built to commemorate
his liberation of citizens he loves more than life.
And the rain that always came pouring down,
as if right on cue, could not wash away
the rank smell of cant.
minos – august 2008
