Poetic Justice (3)

By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.

I am

simply too old

to be mesmerized

by raw deceit

packaged

in the dubious

name of a song

on a CD

too broken

in too many parts

to make sense

to a generation

in dire search

of hope

and peace...

make way for

a meaningful prophecy

to properly preserve

and make good

of whatever

may be left

of the feast

of those fools

who mistook

the guard change

for a season

of theft and

self-aggrandizement -

my belly aches

at this fatuous

attempt to turn

traitors and thieves

into heroes

and saints...

yes,

my belly aches

at this shameless

hogging

of public space

in display of

damaged goods

that never left

the remaindered shelf

of the printer's

warehouse -

what was therein

to sell,

but the grafted tongues

of toddlers

who brassily

presumed to dine

with their elders

long before

they had even learned

to walk,

much less

wash their hands

clean with soap,

trim their nails

with crocodile teeth -

I resent

this devious

shedding of

crocodile tears

in glaring display

of glad-handed

commiseration...

dusk draws

dangerously nigh,

dear uncle

who is not

my uncle,

shall never be

my uncle and

cannot be

my uncle

by dint of

sacrilege,

you can huff

and puff

and scream

screeds of regret

and shame,

I will not

be conned,

I shall still

hold you

and your stale

and badly concocted

yarns at bay;

you who denied

kinship with my sire

in the village square,

I hereby deny you

ancestorhood

in perpetuity;

you hitched

your wagon

to the trailer

of a tribal

thug,

and so

you shall burn

in a ball

of flames...

nobody killed

that wayward waif,

Antwi,

the ungrateful

taboo breaker;

Antwi slipped

his swallow's neck

in a noose

meant for

his foe -

10/5/13