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HOW GREEN

I learned to balloon in a brick,
Bob n’ weave, slope slide and walk backwards.
Go off at a tangent , scythe through crowds.
Those invisible, those who’re not.

Squat down on your hankers .
Bum resting on heels, your weapon on your knees .
Passed down through the ages, India, the Raj.
On the corners ; still the maimed and blind .
But not beggars these .

No coal black eyes, from tanned under turbaned faces .
The dun colored khaki’s , now mottled greens, blacks, and browns.
You’ve still got your muckers, and the chogi wallah back in camp.
It’s white faces, n’white teeth, black hearts, n’black deeds.
The dialogue’s still foreign to your ears .

The troopships still transport us here, or by plane, herc or civvies.
No white knees to give us away now, just the short back and sides ,
With the smell of soap and detergents, that make the dogs howl ,
Grim faced, grim facts, grim places, a grim life, the grim reaper .