Monday, 22 November 2010

The Self-Appointed Rapper

He popped onto your screen
And before your scared fingers
Flicked another channel
You saw his T-shirt –shirt clothes
A big chain strangling his neck
But the voice, my God!
Cracked, noisy, husky
Your one hand cupped your ears
The other one was busy with the remote control
Then you heard it:
Raunchy lyrics, suggestive gestures
The rapper’s hand always rested at the crotch
Your timid eyes perched on your ten-year-old daughter
She was at the edge of her seat, tapping her feet
Savouring every minute of rapper’s theatrics
The boy’s lips were moving along with it
The rapper’s audience
“Dad, I’d like my boobs to be tattooed like those ones!”
“Next time I demand the bling blings!”
“Aren’t those underpants just gorgeous!”
You sat tight
You were torn between taking a bull-whip and
Scolding for I-don’t-know-what reason
It was after much soul-searching and
That you sold the 21-inch TV set
To restore old peace, you said.

C) Lorot Salem 2010


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