His daughter was getting married
So the Hon. Minister’s gate was thrown open
For just that day.
And like flies to a carcass,
The people thronged in
To see, to hail, to help with cooking,
And to gossip.
His gangster paradise
Of beautiful daughters and
Buxom young wives, a harem of them,
The assorted automobiles
Could give one orgasm.
Must have seen the Garden of Eden.
The architect who designed his mansion
Must have had
A national monument in mind.
My country’s ministers could be
Very creative with tax payers money.
They could conjure a paradise
Right here on earth.
One glaring feature in his paradise
Was the dogs.
The big fat dogs.
Over a score of them.
Easy to count as they were neither
Caged nor leashed. They have been trained.
Moving freely in groups of fours and fives.
Amazingly calm but should not
Be mistaken for our local dogs.
It would be suicidal to do that.
They were wild dogs.
They minded their business as long as
Visitors did not cross their path.
They say at night,
Those dogs don’t bark foolishly
At a trespasser.
They will eat him and lick up every trace
That even Hon. Minister will not know