Tuesday, March 26, 2013


Whiffs of soot gush into nostrils
Movement and mood static
Like a ghost country with hot thrills

Sweat spreads across foreheads and hands
As if of a morning message of dew,
Tissues soak with sneeze remnants

Quick lust
At ambulances vrooming past us
And daring speedsters following fast.

As if for picture poses,
Hawkers derisively stir and stare
For market in doses

Tired ankles next to clutches project
From drivers with frowns breaking through glass,
Accelerators are left to rest..

Like our hopes to get to our destinations
“Mate, your air con no dey on?”, old man jokes
No laughter, just stern faces concentrating

Passengers half-dozing
Horns blowing disrupting the tranquil moment
Motor policeman frozen

All we see are several vehicle number plates,
Bumper stickers, red brake lights,
Behinds of heads before us: hundred shapes..

Damn! They should tow away the broken down tanker already!!