day after day
he came here
his mournful tale to tell
upon an old torn suit
he was in the world
unlucky was the lot
so said he
old coal mourner
digging out
was his revered job
upon the treasury land
from dawn to dusk
digging for nice one
the revered old lord
so said father
upon enugu coal city
now that the tunnels
are deeper than abyss
o, from the death-traps!
thither he had fled
My Secret Hoard
Carefully hidden at the back of the draw
Be careful, quiet, just the watch the door
I’m done if they catch me, but careful I’ll be
The zombies search well for something to see
Caught no mercy judged jailed I’ll go
A fool, evil man condemned I know
No razor sharp blade left there to cut
Or blue black dark pistol seven rounds in butt
No Street drugs guiding a willing mind astray
Or ghastly child pictures images secreted away
No, not all their running dogs running with all best scents
Will discover my treasured old light bulbs with old filaments!
Whither those songs of patriotism
Of which they so freely spoke?
They new-breeds have been fully clad
In old and worn-out costumes
The rickety customs are on the thrive!
Surely we are in a new heaven:
There many things must be amiss,
The old chant-songs of undue death,
Of rigorous riggers and their thugs,
Of vagabonds, vandals and more!
Where are the voters?
Those sands of men whose presence
Have been acknowledged in today’s books?
Voters indeed: they were there!
Isn’t today like former days?
The air was thick with water,
And I listened to the sound of light,
Shake our tiny house, our tiny heads,
Your tiny heart,
And the big bad old sky,
The sounds of this old house,
And your old voice,
Make my brain and bones ache,
And the heat from your body makes me miss the cold,
The world was blurred to an impressionist painting,
When you strode out to swim in it,
To prove you could still be spontaneous,
And if you damn well wanted, you would,
I watched from the window,
You opened your mouth to it,
Like a fleshy, bad breathed cup,
And then kissed me with your precipitation-slimy lips,
Sometime in the night, I will sing you this whisper:
The say that rain leaves everything changed,
Freshborn butt-slapped baby new,
But it’s just old sewage making the rounds,
Your own piss pouring down on you,
Oh yes my darling, that’s all it is,
Your own piss pouring down on you.
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