' Someone nice, ' says she,
trying noncommittally
to reply to the question,
' who skewered the kebabs? '

' someone nice, ' says she,
a word I was taught to avoid
for fear of recrimination
for vagueness

her obfuscation is deliberate
someone nice to her
is someone to envy
for his youth and position

though in this country
he has no official place
except as a number to be reduced
like fat rendered over a fire

someone nice has secured her
taken her, body and soul,
his ritualised presence
grafted upon her

their time together uncertain
a token eternity
subject to the whim of a bureaucrat
roasting the skewered meat
clandestinely

Len Webster

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/len-webster-s-pierced-barbecued/