Buratai\’s Bedmate

Tell me, which man fills his belly to assuage
The hunger of his famished neighbour?
Will the prophet feed the Hebrew
To irrigate Soppha's patched throat?

Cat eaters are variants of pussy devourers;
The lion may abhor the vulture's carrion,
But he feeds off dead meat too,or doesn't he?

Those who say that Buratai abhors women
Are men who hate men.
Buratai is usually gay when they say what they say,
His branded skin a simple jungle creature that eats grass
While fowler shots are taken at it.

Those who hate that Buratai loves men
Are the men who hurt men.
They are the men for whom the coats
Of suffocation were sewn,
That they may wear these apparels and force Buratai
To see only their buttons and colour combinations.

And if Buratai chooses to eat carrots
Instead of snails, he has made himself
A true vegetarian, for this is what makes man man.

Buratai has made his choice.
There is no need to drink palmwine over Buratai
And his wee-men, or remind Buratai of his roots.
Hunger has never needed roots to take root.

A man eats his breakfast; man belches if he will,
And a man's constipation is his constipation.

That we may not fight a battle but lose the war,
A battle that our neighbours will see and blink in candid
Amazement at how far the catechist has gone with
Providing khutbar for Hanukkah.

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