It was like a dream come true When he arrived with a tattered suitcase Stuffed with, among other things, Torn underwear and an old wedding-suit.
He jumped the cues, with White men, Smiled with servitude Looked like a duck in the group of swans But he was hard-working like a donkey Followed instructions like a trained monkey, And was sincere like a dog.
That handsomely paid him back He prospered Both in profession and possession.
He began to enjoy English jokes Learnt to use knife and fork Though with certain inhibition, He wore swan’s clothes.
When drunk, he spoke of difficult days back home: How his parents struggled to send him school How they lacked proper food How entire villages suffered from poverty And those in positions lacked morality.
Now He belongs to the upper-middle class Sometimes acts like an aristocrat But he rarely donates to charities, Supports the Conservatives With whom, he thinks The rich pay less tax.
And this morning His son told me How, sometimes, he feels a bit embarrassed – That his father wears swan’s clothes But still has a duck’s heart.
