where brisk egrets do preen and perch
with twisted limbs on cattle rears
in acrid fields and dreich grazing turfs.
I have seen the clumped colony of your clans
spreading drab tarpaulins on dung-coated veldts.
Such is the pedigree of your tribe.
Queer dwellers of the subconscious zone
maudlin invaders that swoop in the night
staff-reared stooping leggers
in torn-tattered togs
held incommunicado by the communion of cows,
you claim no territories
but all territories you claim to be your own,
You tread long and trail the vast mother earth.
From Sahel to Niger with pert, sun-tanned noses
crunching the cackling jungles with clogged jungle boots,
your female folks hawk in bare pumiced heels
pouting currant lips above heaving breasts in skimpy skimps.
There they sat in clumps
lowering their wan glowing eyes
to sip from fura de nunu cups.
Their brows spun blank
and their flat clobbered chests
seething tantrums of miffing gripes.
Their arms shrugged and spurned
with hostile abnegation from other tribes.
Such is the long pedigree of your estranged tribe,
minding none and none cares to mind.
Written by: Olayiwola Olarewaju Metamofosis
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.