Crossing hostile waters at night,
besieged by shinning moonlight,
and the stream of garbage in the river,
we've come to fight, for glory, a winning struggle,
until we lose our raft to the rapids and swim to the
left bank, sufficiently crazy to entertain a surprise attack,
but we're spotted by their sharpshooters picking us up one by one,
so when my time came to act as the last frontier, I was given a new chance
to protect myself by letting them know how I've won the lottery to Australia, thinking will the Ausies like my new clothes? Each of us is a limit to the other.
Categories:
sharpshooters, africa,
Form: Free verse