My first ever poem...
1 Comments Published by Tom Gara on Friday, August 10 at Friday, August 10, 2007.
How My Uncomfortable Lunch With Pervez Musharraf, President of Pakistan and Chief of Army Staff of the Pakistani Army, Didn't Work Out So Well
By Tom Gara
He sits across from me, the General,
Uniform a catalogue of honors and merits and shiny badges of military achievement
Eyes staring away into the lobby,
Exhibiting his boredom, and a mild frustration that his flunkies
Booked him for lunch with a random straggler like me
"So," I say,
Feeling pretty awkward, but trying not to let it show
"Do you, like, ummmm, enjoy reading the wonderful bounties of the internet?
Do you sup at the fountain of Wikipedian knowledge,
Or follow crowd wisdom at Digg.com?"
But then I realise,
Pervez Musharraf has no such time for mere surfing,
He rarely makes it home by 9pm,
And when he does, it is not his laptop that he gravitates toward,
It is to a large, flat television,
Where programs from Pakistan's Golden Era are being played on endless repeat,
And the canned laughter from his childhood lives on,
Forever.
Realising
That I had made a brutal faux pas,
I quickly tried to follow up with something a bit more
Appropriate
For the general tenor
Of the moment
"I live with a Pakistani,"
I mumble, gazing anywhere but into those strong, powerful eyes
"And he is a really nice guy...
... says nice things about your food,
and seems very focussed on family...
...which....
Is not the same as in Australia"
But again, I make a crucial mistake,
In an excitably uncoordinated hand gesture,
I spill forth my glass of orange juice,
"I always spill things,"
I think to myself
As the damage becomes obvious, a soaked, weakly orange-colored tablecloth,
And a disgusted, dignified General Musharraf standing to asses the damage
"Those were important documents,"
Says the President, detached, agitated,
Referring to some papers
That have juice all around the edges
"I'll have to have them printed again"
"Do you know where an internet cafe is around here?"
"No," I say,
Realizing the extent of my impotence in the situation
"But I'm sure that guy over there in the hat would,"
And with that, the General strides away, nonchalantly, but with purpose
Leaving me to wonder what to do about all the juice on the table,
And whether he has a whole cupboard full of those badass uniforms,
Superman-style,
In his house,
Or whatever the building is that General Pervez Musharraf,
President of Pakistan,
Gets dressed in on the average morning.
By Tom Gara
He sits across from me, the General,
Uniform a catalogue of honors and merits and shiny badges of military achievement
Eyes staring away into the lobby,
Exhibiting his boredom, and a mild frustration that his flunkies
Booked him for lunch with a random straggler like me
"So," I say,
Feeling pretty awkward, but trying not to let it show
"Do you, like, ummmm, enjoy reading the wonderful bounties of the internet?
Do you sup at the fountain of Wikipedian knowledge,
Or follow crowd wisdom at Digg.com?"
But then I realise,
Pervez Musharraf has no such time for mere surfing,
He rarely makes it home by 9pm,
And when he does, it is not his laptop that he gravitates toward,
It is to a large, flat television,
Where programs from Pakistan's Golden Era are being played on endless repeat,
And the canned laughter from his childhood lives on,
Forever.
Realising
That I had made a brutal faux pas,
I quickly tried to follow up with something a bit more
Appropriate
For the general tenor
Of the moment
"I live with a Pakistani,"
I mumble, gazing anywhere but into those strong, powerful eyes
"And he is a really nice guy...
... says nice things about your food,
and seems very focussed on family...
...which....
Is not the same as in Australia"
But again, I make a crucial mistake,
In an excitably uncoordinated hand gesture,
I spill forth my glass of orange juice,
"I always spill things,"
I think to myself
As the damage becomes obvious, a soaked, weakly orange-colored tablecloth,
And a disgusted, dignified General Musharraf standing to asses the damage
"Those were important documents,"
Says the President, detached, agitated,
Referring to some papers
That have juice all around the edges
"I'll have to have them printed again"
"Do you know where an internet cafe is around here?"
"No," I say,
Realizing the extent of my impotence in the situation
"But I'm sure that guy over there in the hat would,"
And with that, the General strides away, nonchalantly, but with purpose
Leaving me to wonder what to do about all the juice on the table,
And whether he has a whole cupboard full of those badass uniforms,
Superman-style,
In his house,
Or whatever the building is that General Pervez Musharraf,
President of Pakistan,
Gets dressed in on the average morning.
Tom, i know it's probably not a smart question to ask, but did you really meet him, or just wrote this poem as if you would?