In my country yard, you need to bellow
for men on scarlet Agbada(wide— sleeve rope) to come to your rescue
defuse as many as black mist along the streets
throbbing out flaky visions, vast in your eyes
to get rid of your colourful garments
& from spreading outlandish seaweed.
There is news that the ministry will come for construction
and rehabilitation because there is a meadow in which alfalfa grow
like fertile foxes will be grazed and rake
into chuckholes; if by means the sort for a way out.
How the mapped out roads is like a stray bullets resting on the skin
prodding the tegument of the body and deposits of 1000kg rubbles on helpless streams.
Who says the masses on the streets are happy because of their state of matter?
May I hear you say that you know too little of what corruption weighs; made in Nigeria politicians.
The last time we checked, even till now, project are still untouched
as long as it’s from the ministry;
because it can only be transpired through their hogwash sounds
& under their survey, we went to bed with an empty stomach.
Now they have started from where the had stop.
Leastwise, seventy one construction will be completed
as if to say we may expect something dissimilar,
unlike the beer and tobacco snuff they made us drink and inhale
that instead wassail our lips to praises: there ominous developments.
On the other hands, the keep romancing the roads
along the crust surface as if
the no go fit work and comot for one lane
let the olfactory sensation from the muds rest.
Father, I pray thee, liquefy me into ammonia
so that I won’t oxidize with the swampy waters—
the sin they had brew from Adam’s trunk.