The weekend

THE WEEKEND
(For Jean Luc Goddard)

You are a man so mean and cruel!
You must be a butcher
What have we done to deserve your cudgel?
Brandishing a whip and a chopper
You whip us and quarter us
And blast all our boastings.
What fun was it to spoil all our fun
That we have at weekends?
What was it to you
If that man was having an erection
And without waiting for an inviting bed
Put his hands between my legs in the lift
What if another couple joined in
How can you call it perversion
The theme was the same
It was only a variation.
Our highways are meant to attain maximum speed
But you made us crawl
You put all our sporting cars to flame
What a shame
We had to take to walking
We lost all directions
And also our destination
What about our environs?
There may be junks
But it’s never so bleak as you think
There are open fields without trees, no doubt,
But there are jungles too
Where you can get lost
And make a bonfire of butterflies.
You are afraid to kill pigs
But that won’t make our ham or sausages
Any the worse.
You went on lecturing
You went on laughing at our revolutions
What a farce
Mr. Marx and company
You must know
Are very much known to us
They are not humbugs
In fact they are our brothers
They serve us on either flanks
Both left and right
According as we need.
And we don’t stand to be taught
Didn’t you see that black Afrik
We gave him not only a kick
But also some leftover crumbs
You are a spoilsport
A gadfly indeed
You got on our nerves
We lost our patience
We couldn’t wait for our inheritance
And did away with that hag
Who was hanging on too long
And causing an obstruction
If you also persist in your perversion
We shall do the same to you
Or reschedule our weekend fun and frolic
The whole week.