A Fijian Life

Aziz and I

Aziz and I
Been meeting under shady trees
In parked cars in back lanes
Behind quarry piles
Wary of preying eyes.


Aziz and I
Don’t use words
Our hands that do the deeds
I have never raised my eyes to his face out of disgust
He hasn’t raised his above my chest from pure lust.


Aziz and I
Different like butchers and spas
Burn in the same desperation
A pimp for the high orders in grey buildings he is
Promising me the way to their beds.


Aziz and I
Over envelopes and notes, stamped and crisp
Through reeking corridors of human piss and freshener bars
In musty offices engulfed in blue, green and brown files
Hiding legs covered in milk, with limp white collars and bulging bellies.


Aziz and I
Don’t meet on Fridays
He goes to make peace with God
I tally numbers with never issued records
Stretching to make bulbs light at the end of the week


Aziz and I
If we ever met each other’s eyes
The truth will break us both
In the land of freedom, hope and glory
We’ve sat under the noble banner blue and sold our integrity.


Aziz and I
Are not so different after all
Exhausted and raped by the very system to look after us
We have endured all that has befallen
Aziz and I.


Without Prejudice

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