The moon slept


The moon slept,
But we were awaken to Hunger,
We groan and groan,
We wrestle and wrestle,
Our left hands on our aching stomachs
Writhing in agony inflicted by Hunger.

At the first cock crow,
That Sleep already stole our night,
One of us after the other,
We slept like horses,
Wherever sleep caught us,
On our lame arm chair,
Our wrinkled skinned mat,
Until the sun rescued us from the
captivity of the night.

We woke to another episode of hunger,
Another conflict,
Another climax-
Where is mama?
Her clothes are gone,
She is not in the kitchen,
Not in the neighbourhood,
Her photographs gone,
Her sore memory dawn
On our vision…

Bolanle, now 13,
Spits litres of saliva every minute,
Her stomach as round as a tortoise’s back,
chameleons motels every night,
She wears men like clothes,
Papa can drink
Lucifer’s urine…
Papa can impregnate the moon,
If she were in a wrapper.


2 thoughts on “The moon slept

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