The Old Ways

You ridicule the baobab tree Where the village After the abeng was blown Meet to chart each new destiny Speak of the old ways As primitive and ancient But crime was not rampant Like ants scurrying in their nest Biting at everything And young girls did not walk With babies Before they had finished school And young boys Did not pile with nothing to do On dusty corners While fallowing fields turn to ruin And families did not fall apart Like dry corn Shelled from withered cob. And we knew how to disagree In our conversations Without the circus economy Of unjust courts and corrupt police And we were not civilized then Because we were happy men. Where the baobab tree use to be A gym is there now For children who do no work again.