Rise Up

Ray Bub
For Howard Carter and Lord Carnaervon

Rise Up, Pharoah, worship the sun,
Dust and sand in your elephant gun.
Tombed up and hidden,
Slaves’ throats all slit,
Nothing to do but wait and sit.

Come on, man, get up out of bed—
Toss of them wraps and lift up your head.
It’s been thirty-three hundred years now.
Those beetles you sent to the sun
Should have come back on the run long ago.

Telephone’s ringing mum’s on the blower—
He can’t talk now he’s still in the shower.
Shake that dust off your bones!
I’m sorry mummy can’t come to the phone.

Nothing to do but brick him back up;
Could be our fault we’ve been out of touch.
Let’s take these jewels.
He may never come back and then we’d be the fools.