I saw my world again through your piggy eyes.
Serpents and scorpions, huge, snout-high,
Twisting their live, lithe bodies
Into marks of interrogation
Or, as some would have it, question-marks,
A saint may choose.
Camels to you were four knock-kneed legs
Towering from the desert sands
And even mangy dogs and jackals, creatures to look up to.
The answers to your questions were often unsatisfactory:
A bite, a sting, a kick up the rubber bum, a dog-nip,
I felt for you but you did not squeak
All that much.
Your frustrations made me mindful,
I remembered that moonlit night on the Zagazig road
When I, taken for a lamp-post,
Was startled by the three-legged disapproval
Of a wild-dog. I was wild too.
I kicked him.
We were both wild.
How we howled!
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