They love my skin. <br />“Sweet, sweet brown sugar”, <br />They say <br />Their hands running down my back. <br />“Smooth dark treacle”, <br />They say. <br /> <br />They love my hair. <br />Long, long braids <br />Down below <br />My cropped top. <br />Beads jangling <br />When I shake <br />My head. <br />They love the way <br />It sways, <br />They say. <br /> <br />They love my breasts, <br />So full and fresh. <br />“Juicy grapefruit <br />Waiting to be squeezed”, <br />They say. <br /> <br />They love my legs. <br />Strong and firm. <br />Muscles taut, <br />“Like a race horse”, <br />They say. <br /> <br />They love my arse. <br />Well curved and plump. <br />So different from their wives’ <br />Skin and bone, <br />They say. <br /> <br /> <br />They love my smell. <br />Heavy perfume <br />I wear <br />Just for them. <br />It makes me sick. <br /> <br />I despise them <br />And their pitiable lives. <br /> <br />Go home you men. <br />Go home in your big cars. <br />Go home to your cold respectable wives. <br />You stinking Italians. <br />But come tomorrow <br />And have your fill. <br />Each filthy euro you pay <br />Is another shining new tile <br />In my house back home, <br />In my Africa.<br /><br />Sallie Howson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/foreigner-in-italy/
