THEM  BATRACHIANS

    by Walter Nash

Joe says, “I´m not a racist, personally, 
not me, not personally, no, I´m not.
I´m easy with them Batrachians, as a rule – 
they´ve one down at the club, tending the bar.
Many´s the personal chat I´ve had with him.
I call him “Froggy eyes”, and he don´t mind,
being the sort can take a joke. Some can´t.
I wouldn´t fuss if they was all like him.
It´s just – there are so so many of ´em, see?
You tell me why it is, they´re  everywhere,
flooding this country, taking houses, jobs –  
Get yourself down the market, Saturday,
it´s chock-a-block with them Batrachians. Straight.
It ain´t their being green, or that, it ain´t
the eyes, it ain´t the way their tongue shoots out,
it ain´t the stuff they eat (which turns my guts).
Live and let live is what I say – it´s just,
let´s face it, they ain´t British.  Are they now?”
So says Joe; and I, coward, drink my tea.