Reign of the Quisling-Rodents

SOIL

43 Of silver Through kleptomanic by-ways, charted By hydrogen-bomb desires Down to a waterless shore Here… To quench – With a glassful of Kalahari’s dearth – My pillage-wrought thirst They that glut on the land’s entrails Only set the table For a feast on their own children’s children’s brain matter When the last becomes the first; When the strange thing that goes around Shall come around SOIL Showers of heavy urine-rains: They percolate into thee; the season’s watery sewage, disposed From the bladders Of his black-suited Excellencies …and then Croaking, green-limbed things Hang down from the boughs; thy mango trees Have fruited frogs, ripening Into toads 44 O, for a solar quirk! That the retributive sun Might come and char this hideous congestion of freaky noons Off my heydays But knowing How vanity always colours – with a shade of illusion – This and other fervent wishes, Makes my soul bleed RAGE Out of reeking pig dung My ballpoint pen erects a statue of you; Out of exasperation Out of stale dog retch The hands of my words raise monuments in your downtowns; Out of despair And through these journeying breezes I send up to heaven Tidings of your foulness And, for all I care, Ignominy is what I tell of you; The stampede, the suicide and the greed Over crumbs of salted caked faeces Fed to the blind If to each son of this desecrated soil Is a tribute to pay, ...