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The Porcupine's Quill: A Satire Column
by Arshad M. Khan
by Arshad M. Khan
Please scroll down for
the satire column
Porcupine's Quill
the satire column
Porcupine's Quill
May 5, 2013
THE NON-JUMPING FLEA (PART III)
In Libya we went to see this big man in a big tent. His huge headgear made me
envious of the cozy residents inside. The tent was luxurious and the wide open vista
without took me back to my homeland -- the desert landscape in the distance, the
ribbon of green, an oasis, in the foreground.
I was immediately taken, as was the family. When the man decided to air his head,
we migrated to the turban and thus to our new host. It wasn't bad living and we were
happy.
And then his son came -- sporting a head of hair to make us salivate from afar.
When he finally kissed his father goodbye, so did we in a nimble hop or two. Our life
became a whirlwind of travel -- this time centered around Europe. Disaster struck
when he returned home. He changed his hairstyle. That in itself is not too bad
except this man of extremes completely shaved his head.
Many of us died but some scrambled to safety atop the barber. Others via comb and
brushes to other customers. And so it was how I, one of the lucky survivors found a
host ... who in the scheme of things, not unlike my American, traveled to Syria for a
similar purpose.
So here I am again with plenty and a variety to drink; a stone's throw from where I
was born, and quite familiar with my host's customs and manners.
I am home again ... almost.
THE NON-JUMPING FLEA (PART III)
In Libya we went to see this big man in a big tent. His huge headgear made me
envious of the cozy residents inside. The tent was luxurious and the wide open vista
without took me back to my homeland -- the desert landscape in the distance, the
ribbon of green, an oasis, in the foreground.
I was immediately taken, as was the family. When the man decided to air his head,
we migrated to the turban and thus to our new host. It wasn't bad living and we were
happy.
And then his son came -- sporting a head of hair to make us salivate from afar.
When he finally kissed his father goodbye, so did we in a nimble hop or two. Our life
became a whirlwind of travel -- this time centered around Europe. Disaster struck
when he returned home. He changed his hairstyle. That in itself is not too bad
except this man of extremes completely shaved his head.
Many of us died but some scrambled to safety atop the barber. Others via comb and
brushes to other customers. And so it was how I, one of the lucky survivors found a
host ... who in the scheme of things, not unlike my American, traveled to Syria for a
similar purpose.
So here I am again with plenty and a variety to drink; a stone's throw from where I
was born, and quite familiar with my host's customs and manners.
I am home again ... almost.