By Tikum Mbah Azonga
She looked this way
I tell you she looked
Don’t mind her scarlet face
Or her puffed up jaws
She’s still a naive observer.
The day the weaver bird seeks hay
And the camel dealers are irremediably hooked
There won’t be a single day of grace
All will be bundled and furnaced with their claws
And she will be allowed to quiver and rot, and rot and quiver.