Fiji

Dawn Dream in Rationed Fiji

{By “R>” with sincere apologies to Edgar Allen Poe ) On a morning, dim and dreary, I staggered tired and weary, Down the dawn-enlightened street.

Suddenly I heard a-soaring A sound, like lions roaring, Roaring for their meat.

Such a sound, ’twould pity waken In hell’s dead souls forsaken— It echoed down the street.

Then I saw the crowd a-prying Through the closed shop-doors, and crying: “Butcher, Butcher, give us meat!”

The butcher shouted, surly, Above t£e hurly-burly, “Serve I none who wait without!

Patricians seek my favours— I’ve no time to waste meat’s flavours On the common herd’s rude snout.”

As the wind-mad sea-surf crashes That crowd through portals smashes, Crowned the butcher with his axe; Skewered his tripes with his own skewers, Poured his blood down his own sewers.

Great amusement . . . free of tax!

I thought: justice most poetic— If a trifle too emetic.

But—from Butcher came forth meat.

Each hungry one now trundles Pot-ward his reeking bundles, Down the sympathetic street.