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LIFE IS A CROOK by Agbaakin O. Jeremiah

Life is a crook and though

you pour him drinks and fill his bed

with feathers and whores.

It’s the uneven face of the sky

it’s cloudy in Pompei as

fog sneezes over the city;

she bleeds rain there.

But our crops thirst and the squirrel’s nails blunt

From digging holes yearlong

here the sky is so clear and blue

to provoke the earth to dusty rage.

Somewhere, a man visits the rain-lord

another loops his only buba to hang his neck

if only he knew the Morrow would mate flood

those seasons your barns swelled and yams

you baptized in red, swirling oil

now you grumble for the rains

have taken her wares to another market.

You’ve turned your womb to a slaughterhouse

of tiny men for the mothering hour hasn’t come

somewhere a couple eats cocoyam alone

without the murmur of kids.

Life is the sound of rain

beating on my zinc roof

The rhythm is taut and noisy

Like giants marching

In between, Calm peeps through

the torrent of noise so the honks of geese

and the flutter of sparrows, we hear again.
Though he has gulped all your ale

he’s never too drunk to not walk in

straight, sane lines like a pious drunk

on his last trip to the monastery.

LIFE IS A CROOK by Agbaakin O. Jeremiah

LIFE IS A CROOK by Agbaakin O. Jeremiah

Author: Oluwatoyosi Agbaakin

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