The Ballad of Yassir Arafat

Poor Mordechai was losing sleep.
He wanted all of Palestine.
But being slack, he couldn’t keep
The Ay-rabs of the land in line.

The spiel he took from door to door:
‘Your house, God says, belongs to me.
For two millennia or more,
You’ve only had the tenancy.’

But all his efforts to explain,
By quoting screeds of Holy Writ,
Brought no acceptance of his claim —
In fact, the very opposite!

Then up strode Sergeant Arafat,
The stripes upon his sleeve still new.
No task’s too onerous for that
Most craven servant of the Jew.

‘Too long have settlers lived in fear,
Their lives beset by strife and trouble…’
(He paused to brush away a tear
That coursed through his designer stubble.)

‘I’ll shield you from all grief and pain,’
He said at last with sickly grin.
‘But first I need more whips and chains
And jails to put my people in.’

The Jews were rapt their former foe
Would do their dirty work so well.
They clapped their hands and cheered ‘Bravo,
O Noble Son of Ishmael!’

And long and loud was the applause
When Yassir rose to claim his due:
A treasure chest with lots of drawers,
A swagger stick and medals, too.

So Yassir took his box of toys
And set about his deadly game,
Unleashing thugs and bully-boys
Throughout his postage-stamp domain.

‘More tear gas!’ he cried. ‘More guns!
More stocks of manacles and fetters!
I’ll teach that bunch of Hebron bums
Israelis really are their betters!’

The New World Order’s chiefs conferred,
And all agreed they were impressed.
Their joint communique declared:
‘At last this land by peace is blessed.’

But dolefully, I must relate
The fate of Israel’s bosom Pal.
When once his crackdown was too late,
They busted him to corporal!

First published in Crescent International.