ONE STYLE

By Tikum Mbah Azonga

The southerly star in its self-styled kingdom
Spreads out its tentacles and sniffs at all wisdom
On the seventh floor of the mighty crown
Where orange bench women all night frown
Lazy bones unfit to rule call the shots
While the dying cats lick their black spots
At the eleventh hour
When the preferred wine goes sour
And sidewalk election monitors call to inspect
No one, not even the widows will show any respect
So, nobody in the end will be able to rise and say
They won because they heard the cries.

Copyright 2010