By Agnes Spew

Umbala! Umbala!
Umbala, they say
In the markets of Rangoon
On a bright summer’s day
Schumbaddi! Schumbaddi!
I hear them cry
In the dusty backstreets,
Of fabled Dubai.
ZingZang-diggety-dang!
They might say
In the Japanese quarter
Of old Bombay
But they live only in my head
Footsteps on the stairs, as they go to bed
In the darkness, I lie still
Prisoner of the cupboard
This dead rat my [...]