Poofta

2010, Mohamed Khadra, Terminal Decline, 2011, Read How You Want, page 253, ‘ […] I got into a lot of trouble when I called the physicians “the pooftas of the profession”.’ He smiled again, as if to say I shouldn′t have done it, but God it felt good.

What he said was that he thought it would be a shame to ruin looks like hers, and allowed she might continue working, if it was for him, ‘And your little poofta friend and all. Not that I like that sort of thing. But if he′s working then it has to go through me. I don′t want to hear nothing else.’

/he stared hard at me and for the first time noticed my hair. We both remained staring at one another for a few seconds. Then clasping both his ham-sized hands to his face, the man wheeled round and staggered back into the cell. “They′ve sent ma a bloody poofta!” he howled. “A bloody poofta!” My companions stared at me in wonderment at the reaction my few words had produced.