Thursday, March 1, 2012


Posing he on life's position-
Or, put more corneally, right place, right time-
Grabbed he 'Calabash 2004'
And the contents- good food, still water, iodised salt, brown sugar
Enough rains, more oxygen, white teeth, bright hopes- he inherited,
And for the 10-mile sojourn readied.

Why wobble you this far,
Two steps before the blue waters of home?
Why this lonesome journey take,
Stepping on the multitude's toes?
Why head the calabash away,
From the expectant hands that it,
From veined trees they created and carried?

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