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episode 8

Blue Burqa Destiny

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by Rawclyde

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So that’s my story & I’m stickin’ to it

Of the girl next door with whom I blew it

She’s still a colonel & I’m an old tramp

writing tall ones beside my reading lamp

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Afghaneeland, oh Afghaneeland, we had our thrills

They come, muskets blazing, my backbone a thousand chills

But that girl, a woman now, a legend now

Has captured & carried away my soul somehow

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So bold was she, so wild & free was she

On the saucer outta there a gift I give to thee

Aye, as from Afghaneeland we float thru the sky

Here’s a little gift in remembrance of you & I

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Sitting nex’ me in your teeny-weeny buckskin

As we dash across the sky ‘neath God’s almighty chin

Oh Sheena, my Sheena, Col. Sheena Johnson ’til death

I’ll love you always way way beyond my final breath

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I hand to thee a little something bought & gift-wrapped

So divine when you move all my dreams in the face get slapped

You take it, unwrap it, squirm with a questioning regard

At the blue burqa in your hands you squint so hard

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What can I say but that the garment adds a new dimension

To your awesome display of leadershipful I-dare-not-mention

Oh goddess, I love thee like all planets a-journey

around the sun, so kneel I to adore your pure knee

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Time passes slowly as we pass over the sea

In this U.S. Army saucer afloat lackadaisically

You sit so stiff in your new burqa next to sleepy me

I doze, I awake, you sit so still in my gift to thee

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It covers you so completely in such a modest way

I wonder if it also stops you from having anything to say

I ask you several questions, no word or nod is your reply

The burqa falls to the floor, I let out a horrid cry

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It appears Col. Sheena Johnson is no longer here

I sit all alone in a flying saucer I fear

Her holy war proves to be not the same as mine

Has she mystically returned to Afghaneeland like ~ like sunshine

?

text: copyright clyde collins 2015

Afghaneeland

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