Slaughter

SLAUGHTER (for Emmanuel) It was Saturday morning, He went out to play On that dusty patch in Ebutte Meta And we never saw him again We looked everywhere Even in the sewers and roadside drains We never saw him again Until Thirteen weeks later He looked like a confused ghost, He still had the dark birthmark On his left breast That one that look like a napple leaves, His hair and finger nails had grown longer All else was intact except for his navel An arrogant bullets hole was in its place Then they told us many things They us members of his gang Men who looked wicked even in the death They told us he killed a policeman with Kalashnikov They showed the gun. But there were few things they forget to tell us There were a very few things they forget to do They didn’t tell us he had a football under his arm They forget to shoot all the passers by Who saw the wayward slug stray to him from? A drunken patrolman’s gun They forget the weight of the a Kalashnikov They forget the size of his hand Emmanuel was thirteen years old He now lies in the garden Behind our house, Quietly A little flower over his grave Where no police bullet will touch him again. Bode Asiyanbi