Monday's Supper
The boy's heart dance's:
a trance
at noon.
Then he yawns
like a cock's
crow,
with a thin smile.
Picking his teeth,
wishing the night
fell in the sea.
Sea turtles, once eaten a year,
made by his dear
mother;
when she tarried at the haff with fish nets
and livid scarves
feigning, hissing... hoping
to seize a whale.
The boy is a vagabond:
trained with a bow
and arrow
to scurry on this land
till the sun dies.
Hunger became a muse
as he snoozes
beneath the frenzy clouds;
The wind gathered wood fragments
--a match from his
bottom,
''Cocoyams emerged"
Then he finds
himself dressed in his
Mother's
kitchen.
Boisterous was the rumour
Burning through both town & city
It burnt faster than fire!
Many ears deafened from hearing
The legend of her intellectual gold
Her story went faster than a meteor –
And we came to reap & grow & glow
From her lengthy barn of disciplines;
Yes, like others we came to her fields!
We thot there are large yam-tubers
Yet, not even cocoyams were found!
No, not even a weeping corn-ear!
We bent down to reap
But our hopes, our joys, our tendencies
Have cracked in her unworthy Portraits!
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