It was like a dream come true
When he arrived with a tattered suitcase
Stuffed with, among other things,
Torn underwear and an old wedding-suit.
He jumped the cues, with White men,
Smiled with servitude
Looked like a duck in the group of swans
But he was hard-working like a donkey
Followed instructions like a trained monkey,
And was sincere like a dog.
That handsomely paid him back
He prospered
Both in profession and possession.
He began to enjoy English jokes
Learnt to use knife and fork
Though with certain inhibition,
He wore swan’s clothes.
When drunk, he spoke of difficult days back home:
How his parents struggled to send him school
How they lacked proper food
How entire villages suffered from poverty
And those in positions lacked morality.
Now
He belongs to the upper-middle class
Sometimes acts like an aristocrat
But he rarely donates to charities,
Supports the Conservatives
With whom, he thinks
The rich pay less tax.
And this morning
His son told me
How, sometimes, he feels a bit embarrassed –
That his father wears swan’s clothes
But still has a duck’s heart.
09 December 2004
London
