Wash Your Hands.
“Wait for the flies!” – Chris Rock
Elephant Island. It’s full of elephants.
And that means lots of bananas. So that means monkeys.
Lots of monkeys.
Which means a lot of monkey shit. And elephant shit.
So there’s lots of flies. Lots of flies flying around, going around and around.
Going around shit.
Going around shit and the heads of poor, small African children
(the small ones who don’t know what black means).
Going around their heads and landing on their faces.
Poverty, disease, famine; stick people.
They don’t bother to swat them away.
They don’t bother to swat them away so there’s lots of frogs.
Lots of frogs sitting –
sitting still on the dried-up tree stump next to the stick people with the stick baby.
And the flies. In the dust.
Probably hot dust.
In the dust, sitting and eating flies.
Eating flies off of the faces of the small, African, stick children.
Two pounds a month.
For a fly swatter.
To swat the flies
from their faces.
Wash your hands.
A frog dies,
A child lives;
in the dust.