"Singapore Customs"

“What’s this?” crowed the officious

British ex-pat Customs Officer.

Looking down at my Army Issue

Machete strapped to my battered

Army Issue suitcase.

“You can’t bring that in ‘ere!

That’s a lethal weapon, that is!”

A more useless bit of kit is hard to imagine,

In it’s pressed cardboard sheath,

And it’s heavy riveted handle

That would cut and blister

A sweat soft hand to ribbons in minutes.

And it’s impossible to sharpen edge

Could hardly be called lethal.

Unless you wanted to batter something to death

With it’s blunt edge!

“You can’t bring that in ‘ere,

That’s a lethal weapon, that is!”

Luckily he hadn’t looked IN my suitcase!

He’d have found the Headhunter’s mandu,

Razor sharp, the machete I really carried on ops,

With it’s stylised hornbill handle with the beak

That curled round your little finger

And stopped the thing from flying out

Of a sweat wet or monsoon wet hand.

Or the quiver of poisoned blowpipe darts!

Now they really were lethal!

I wasn’t in the best of moods!

I’d been kicked out of my beloved Borneo

At a moment’s notice!

They’d thought to retain

My trusty 7.62 FN

But had returned my ‘personal weapon’.

And found me a last minute seat

On a Singapore Airlines flight!

And there I stood

In the bright lights of Singapore Airport.

Dirty, tired, in a pair of rotting jungle boots

And a set of Olive Greens

That hadn’t seen starch

Or the dhobi man’s iron

In far too long!

And I’d missed my tea!

And if this officious prat kept me much longer

It looked like I’d miss my supper too!

“You can’t bring that in ‘ere,

That’s a lethal weapon, that is!”

“What the fuck do you call this?” I asked politely,

Pointing to the ugly little Sterling sub-machine gun

They’d returned to me before I left,

Hanging round my neck like the eternal albatross!

And the full magazines hanging from my belt!

“Souvenirs?”

For me, Peace had broken out!

Copyright © Res JFB 10^th October 2014