My Play, Poverty's Play
And if poverty whips,
largely, torments
In her barefaced snort of
withering grievance.
I shall be the one,
mannered by Earth's dog-
wetness,
To garner my broken
possession, murk and bins,
Writhe, clamber steep nigh
moister Earth
From foot of lazy deities,
pick the sacred mound,
Muzzle it deep against my
leaking dereliction birthed
From a heightened
helplessness of obligation
And speak the words of
preserving ardour
From deities' bossom
As trambled Kola lobe and
marooned salt
Earthed for no sprouting in
rushing footfalls,
Prickled, insatiate in the
belly of oblivion
I shall be the praying yam
wholly unearthed
To the feet of a roasting
'adogan'
I shall be the racketeering
prey, jostled
Endlessly in poverty's
meaning play,
Washed- out by riches'
maze
I shall be the mocking
haunt lack tugs
In steep eaves of perceived
redemption.
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