He lingers like
British colonization,

Reluctant to relinquish
The lands he'd once conquered,
The power he'd once wielded,

The unconventional control he'd had
Over my fragile populace.

I was his protectorate, gaining safety
From alliance with his muscled armies,
Finding strange security
In the benevolent invasion
Of my uncharted territories.

I was his sphere of influence
Deferring always to the
Moral superiority of
His skin.

Then the depletion of my
Natural resources
(The rivers were running dry)
And the exploitation of
My labor force
(The sweat on my brow
Meant nothing, and
The workers were growing
Discontented)

Fomented rebellion in my veins.
I became the slave in revolt,
And all his strong-arm tactics
Could not quell the freedom fighters
Surging like adrenaline
Onto the battlefield.

In a stunning coup d'etat
I expelled his oppressive regime
And rediscovered my autonomy.

Yet he loiters at my doorstep:
An aging Viagra-addicted superpower
Trying desperately to reclaim
The expansive empire of his youth.

05/25/2003

Author's Note: I worry that it cheapens the passionate skewering of colonialism to compare it with the spectre of my ex-boyfriend. And yet, it's still rather satisfying...

Posted on 05/26/2003
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