The Small Dog Pemba Calls a Lion (Shih Tzu)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Snow Lion, you curl on the embroidered silk cushion,
The one Pemba brought from the monastery storehouse,
Threads of gold and crimson, woven in Lhasa, 1997,
When the monks fled the high passes.
Your fur, white as the peaks of Chomolungma,
Spills over the edges, soft as Empress Dowager Cixi's favored bed,
In the Summer Palace, Beijing, 1880,
Where she kept your ancestors near her throne.

[Chorus]
Shih Tzu, I say it right, sheed-zoo,
Like the wind through the palace pavilions,
Pemba nods, his robe fuchsia against the sea wall.
But Mrs. Patterson stumbles, shit-zoo,
Her cheeks flush like steamed rice cakes with minced pork,
The treats they fed you in the imperial gardens.
Snow Lion, you don't mind, your tail thumps the cushion.

[Verse 2]
I comb your coat with the ivory tool,
Carved in 1903, from a tusk washed ashore here,
On Point Nemo's only beach, April 12th,
Preventing mats, like the eunuchs did for Cixi's pets.
You pant softly, tongue pink as the morning dew,
Scent of sandalwood incense clings to your fur,
Mingling with the musky warmth of your rest,
On cool marble floors, 18 degrees, shaded from the sun.

[Bridge]
Remember the small strange fact, Snow Lion?
They dressed your kin in miniature imperial robes,
Tiny silk sashes for court amusement,
During ceremonies in the vast gardens.
Pemba calls you lion, guardian of the dharma,
But you're small, fitting in a lacquered palanquin,
Carried by attendants at dawn, 6 AM walks.

[Verse 3]
The cushion holds your shape when you trot away,
To the pond where beavers never dammed,
But clams steam in Pemba's pot, Mercenaria,
Gathered at low tide, July 15th.
Mrs. Patterson coughs, avoids your name,
While I pronounce it clear, sheed-zoo,
Honoring the lost names of those palace dogs,
Unrecorded in the National Palace Museum ledgers.

[Outro]
Snow Lion, rest on your silk throne,
In our cigar-room without cigars,
Latitude forty-eight south,
Where words sound dirty but aren't.