Bodies Litter Bama Town
Like wrappers on a carnival street,
So bodies litter Bama Town;
As time deflates these body balloons,
Flies gyrate in their flowing fluid.
Above them wafting their flag
That shred them like potato chips
And mindful of why? And why?
‘‘Infidel must die’’, they post.
Then comes afar a zombie voice,
A retreat voice from Cameroon:
''Blame us not mother land;
If only we had airport armoured cars.''
Seek not Bama in map tomorrow,
Vorbei ist vorbei,gone is Babylon.
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