The crime is how we deliberately keep out of touch,
Pretending it has nothing to do with us...
How familiar the metaphors, we think, suspecting our
House servants of having killed & eaten our pet cats!
At the University, expatriate lecturers gesticulate,
Finger the leaves of Marx to a batch of yawning students,
Nervously trying to define something or other...
Colonies of storks in flamboyant trees look down on
The valley dust and the last of the sweet bananas.