In My Country
You must know I like my country,
Life here is simple.
Pressed for release
There is no need for a lavatory
The bush is a welcome variant;
No one bothers, no one looking your way.
You need not search far,
Unwary face may welcome excrement
Thrown from an up stair window;
Burst upon your sockets
Your shriek is disdained.
You are dull
It matters only a grain,
With deftly copied reminders
You are sure to pass.
Even when you flunk that interview
Lady with fat bottoms,
You will sit in that office
After sitting on your employer's
Masculine rod in the dark.
Tell me you need a wife
And reveal your having not looked,
Every girl needs a husband;
Crusades where they call down Fire, their
Sorcerers mixing love medicines
And many draining cosmetic shops
Greedily seek men.
Happy and holy is my country,
Land of many twists;
That old woman does not smile
At you for naught
Grease you her itching palm;
The motorcycle rider will shunt traffic
If you are late
But you must pay.
There is always a short cut to everything,
It only needs you to belong;
Do as I do, don't worry.
Keep the nation as poor
And as depraved as is.
In all the oppression of the have-nots,
The poverty of the squelched
And the confusion of the youth
Full churches and clubs
Point to the truth that
Suffering is compatible with obsessed grinning
And smug laughter in my country.