Interior Designs in Government House


Here we are as rows of healthy people
Seated under cream white plasterboard skies.
The nine wasted lives are begging for dirt.

Dressed in rags ready for some real matter,
Suddenly the Lord Buddha appears content.
He asks pertinent questions about the skills.

Thin legs, thin smiles mean with big balloon lips
She looks like a well-seasoned porno star.
Seen in profile her lips repeat “Brava, Brava”.

Why is the pistol carried slung so low
Dangling like that around the man’s gangly thighs
As he walks with that grin of ownership?

Well you may ask but he waits for no-one
Unlike any-one who rises quickly
When her number comes up and disappears.

Still unhappily youth breaths down the neck.
What must be going through his mind right now?
Bad times are here for the money-changers.

The usher seduces the fair maiden
Who wishes she was made invisible
From the workings of an unjust system.

Sweet tracksuit lady is ready to leave
With whatever gift she came here to get
To return to her floppy packaged life.

The unshaven look of unsleeping eyes
Stares straight out at the unmeaning volume.
The loser now is later to win four.

The winds they are-a-changing for the worse
According to the newspaper being read
By someone whose back marks the general view

In the crumpled blue synthetic jacket
Throbs a beating heart of human nature
Yearning for another naked adventure.

And this is the day when the angels came
Disguised as Romans putting on a play.
Time smiled a song - none shall starve along the way.

ROMA, 25 10 2008