Dames and Big Shots

By WS Rendra

Don’t go slappin’ those paws on me so easy like,
I got the lay of the land, see?
I ain’t no genius in guessin’,
but it’s crystal clear, I know
the score on this squeeze…
Damn the schooling they shoved my way.
Taught me numbers, typing, foreign lingo,
polish, and manners,
but forgot to clue me in:
when the big shot grabs you from behind,
how am I supposed to play it?

Don’t go slappin’ those paws on me so easy, like.
While my fella don’t dare pull that stunt.
What’s your game, I already figured,
when you jab my boobs,
I already know what it spells…

They taught me to hate sin,
but they forgot about teaching me
how to land a gig.
Taught me a lifestyle
with tools from outer space.
Taught me to crave
gadgets whipped up by the bosses,
and mastered by the bigwigs.
Powders, cool machines,
synthetic pick-me-ups, tonics,
all kinds of fizz, and a college degree on the wall.
Education chains me
to their market, to their stash.

And now, as I grow up.
Where else can I scram,
if not to the world of them big shots?

Don’t go slappin’ those paws on me so easy, like.
I ain’t no egghead,
but I know damn well
all the grind on my desk
is headed in that direction.
Don’t, pal, don’t!
Don’t go slappin’ those paws on me so easy like.
Ah, Jeez.
The green you tuck into my brassiere
is my ticket in this joint.
Ah, Right.
That’s the lowdown.
With brass, you clasps me.
Your bulgin’ gut
presses on mine.
Your rotten trap
locks onto mine.
Slick and all natural like,
you play it smooth.
The whole shebang backs you.
They grips both my stems.
They spread my gams.
While you climb on toppa me.

Yogya, 10 July 1975

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Poem of a Young Woman and Her Boss (Sajak Gadis dan Majikan), State of Emergency, W.S. Rendra, Wild & Woolley, Glebe, 1978, p. 30.