by Lucien Quincy Senna

Sucking cider through a purple straw,

beside her sporting on the green,

her grandchild thirsty for love.

"When are you going to take me to the city Nani?"

"When are you going to name the happy day?"

sang the child eagerly.


"Oh you great big mountainous girl!

Full of fiery strength, whatever the weather

We shall make it together

Where the people have occupied the city."


In her blanched beauty, seated in a silver deck chair

with complacent socialist ways,

Grandmother usually pleased the public like a play.

But this entreaty she could not deny

for it came from the gods through the child.


Why did I afflict this child

with fanciful paisley dreams of liberation,

occupation and all kinds of social change

which I in my lifetime will never see?


But God is looking right at me.

Right now.

So she chimed, "Let us be on our way my child."

And Nani and child, hand in hand

made their crooked way to Londontown to witness

the beginning of the end.