' Someone nice, ' says she, <br />trying noncommittally <br />to reply to the question, <br />' who skewered the kebabs? ' <br /> <br />' someone nice, ' says she, <br />a word I was taught to avoid <br />for fear of recrimination <br />for vagueness <br /> <br />her obfuscation is deliberate <br />someone nice to her <br />is someone to envy <br />for his youth and position <br /> <br />though in this country <br />he has no official place <br />except as a number to be reduced <br />like fat rendered over a fire <br /> <br />someone nice has secured her <br />taken her, body and soul, <br />his ritualised presence <br />grafted upon her <br /> <br />their time together uncertain <br />a token eternity <br />subject to the whim of a bureaucrat <br />roasting the skewered meat <br />clandestinely<br /><br />Len Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/len-webster-s-pierced-barbecued/
