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Collected Poems

The Tourist

The Tourist

I met him in a cocktail bar,
he said his name was Jones,
he spoke of Reparations and
of Debts and Foreign Loans,
I propped him up in, front of me
and kicked him in the stones.

I found him in the Abbey with
an illustrated guide,
I took him by the buttonhole
and led him to one side,
I hammered him and jumped upon
his stomach till he cried.

I met him by the Palace
making notes upon his shirt,
page 166 I poked a finger in his eye
and asked him if it hurt,
and later on I took his face
and rubbed it in the dirt.

I saw him up at Stratford and
he told me of the Bard,
he would have said a lot more but
I took him off his guard,
I thought of his posterity
and kicked him very hard.

He knew the map of Europe as
a monkey knows its pelt,
He said that English churches were
the nicest he had smelt,
I pulled his nose and kicked his shins
and asked him how he felt.

He said he wondered what this place
was like before the War,
I led him to the limousine and
pushed him through the door.
I took him down to Stonehenge which
he hadn't seen before.

He mentioned that he'd like to get
some prehistoric bones,
I stood him in the shadow of
the largest of the stones,
I pushed it on his neck and said
good-bye to Mr Jones.