Our faculty’s token Hindu, a rich white boy from Minnesota
With his bank account tacked to his chest,
Left his elephant god grazing on his lawn
While he was away on field trip week—
I wouldn’t know since I was in Elephant Valley and a prison in Bangalore—
This is strictly hearsay ripe on the grapevine—
The elementary school principal in his
Stainless steel missionary mask
Found Ganesh like a giant turd on the carpet
Grass and enlisted Mr Bojangles,
Many years now a well tamed Christian,
To carry it into the house.
The boy of Minnesota rose a whiney hue and cry
Miss Haversham asked them both to apologize.
Mr Bojangles gave a shuffle and polite tap dance.
The missionary prayed to God for guidance andNever removed his mask.
This poem is included in my collection, Counting Stars at Forty Below.