Sissy was 12, 13, when she went out in the yellow dancing light
that day
Danced herself, did a few skips,
felt for a fair sort of a day
as saw the single cow in the killing paddock,
eyes meeting eyes, melting a little.

Up went the gun
when Sissy's mother gave the man the nod.
One crack, one bullet, one toppling sideways cow.

How she continued to twitch her legs,
stuttering on her side, down on the heavy grass.

On the west bank.
On the west bank.

Get used to it, said Sissy's mother,
Look at it this way.
A fat shiny cow, all that beef
wonderful. succulent.
Sissy saw the massive knife come down
as dismemberment began.
Who knows what she thought
but she didn't look away.
When they yanked out the guts she smiled.

On the west bank.
On the west bank.

So it's the same, get used to it.
Think of it as a fat, juicy Jew.
Jew.
Savour the word, taste the idea.

Elsewhere.
On the west bank.
On the west bank.
Some silly little kids, Palestinians,
think that the curfew is lifted.
Well it's not.
Soldier gives the nod, then squints into the sights,
sends out one bullet just for each kid.
Dark eyes to dark eyes.

Oh, there'll be twitching on the yellow sands tonight.

Get used to it.
Get used to it.
Get used to it.
Get used to it.