The Mind of ‘My Lai’ Revisits Da Kapital
(for David Mitchell)
So this is what happens to our poets, neat
Soft-shoe shuffling along Oriental Parade
The internal massacre is about complete
As a handshake equals a kind of charade
“E hoa” I say, and then repeat my own name
Over and over in an attempt to get through
But your semi-toothless grin and the insane
Grimace, you are not here at all, but it is you
Like a sad combination reminiscent of Groucho
And Harpo in one, without the humour, your spirit
Seems to have deserted you. But, ouch, I know
Donna Awatere, becomes yr Remuera Hsfrau, is it?
Achtung, Baby, Babi Yr an’ all aside
p.s. the ships look beautiful as they glide . . .
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