My eyes popped out for a stroll

Instead of crawling off to the roadhouse,
as one might have expected,
Sami and I turned up unannounced
for a spot of cards at the Bangash mansion,
dressed to the nines, sporting
white cashmere scarves and
genyoowine malacca-cane walking sticks
carbon-dated to antiquity,
give or take a few hundred years

Only to find the inmates floating about
in Bermudas, a few in strapless Wonderbras
no less, proffering
artificial suntans followed
by a friendly word or two
in the language of your choice

On a wibbly-wobbly pedestal,
gharara-clad Auntie Bangash wiggled Watusi
for her husband’s aggrandisement,
but he was too busy defending himself against
a mounted Charge of Delight Brigade chanting
“poetaster!” in almost-unison,
to applaud her sterling effort

This was a side of the mansion I
had not seen before and hope
never to again

(minos - march 2007)