By Tikum Mbah Azonga
A man came to my hammock half dressed
He chewed the cud like a weary horse
And fumbled in his pocket confusedly
Was he thinking of the mango tree
Or the sour milk the mad cow drank?
Suddenly he looked frightened and drunk
After a few minutes he sighed
Turning round sharply, he mumbled something
And then hurried down the unpaved road.
But he left his old and worn out walking stick behind.