Letter by Margherita Huntley
the future I inhabit
where new belligerence is born,
the lines can be traced back
to that number two two five piccadilly showcase
the parisian ball, that travelling circus.
Paraded, the sexual freak and 'hottentot venus'
and when they chopped up your Khoisan flesh; like beef,
"Exotic"; the parts floating in jam jar; green liquid
the clumps of woolly hair in some prestigious museum
The future I inhabit
It forgets you.
Keeps you gathering dust
behind glass, a reminder
and though they send you back
do you believe it's over?