Sunday, December 28, 2014

One noon on the Accra main road

Panting, heaving, sweaty; 
an arm and a leg for free air here , as
traffic hits red..
A thousand and one tyre screeches heard
A wheelchair footplate falls but the beggar doesn't
His coin finds the feet of a young guy 
who washes car windscreens half-clean on impulse 
Hawkers hang on trotro windows 
like butter bugs bringing blues buried under wings,
Make way for manipulating motorcades!
swerving through slumped vehicles, swift
like shiny rivers.. 
Heat as heavy as a traditional dancer's garb
plunges into the gut of the trotro,
slaps me in the face!
Mumbles catapult from passengers' mouths,
bad drivers, troopers, deadbeat trucks, loose hens…
Warden tired, pretending he's not sagging on his knees
Bicycle rider risks a stunt, 
Jesus! A baby and her granny cry...
Tall corporate boxes with glass eyes-
Our eyes flirt all over them as if it's love at first sight.
Silver wares swell, loaves poking
loads  choking,
The hell-digging hot sun tearing apart hairs
As if soul-searching

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