To My Uncle Tarkwa Atta – A Tribute (20)

By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.

Uncle Tee,

you must be

sick and

tired of all

these cold-calculating

pretenders

screaming screeches

of tirades,

snorting at

your critics

like crickets

and calling you

a cry baby

who deserved to have

commanded our pity

and empathy…

as if

the presidency

is for sissies

and girly-men;

maybe

you ought to

have pondered

deeply over

Jay-Pee’s

tantalizing

bait

ere grabbing

at the same –

then also,

you ought to

have heeded my

frank and

solemn call

to concede…

for yours was

a loose-fitting

garment,

like the cheap

frazzled

propaganda pieces

thrown at our

kindergarten kids;

besides,

your neck was

rather too thin

to butt heads

with my other

uncle,

the one

whose father

the mini-club lager

was named after,

the bald,

popeyed and

bespectacled one –

see how

it has all

come to pass,

your apparent lack

of spine and

stomach

for a game

in which

you had no

pedigree or

even a college

degree,

except

the bean counter’s

craft;

yes,

you had no

flair

for this

brinkmanship

game of

statesmanship;

alas,

so full of vanity

and practiced

humility

were you that

you sneered and

jeered at me

like the latest

joke

in town…

it was only

a matter

of time

before

I won

our bet…

anyway,

some maggot-eating

leech recently wrote

a bleeding-heart

note

to Jato-Pee

pretending to be

you making a

clean breast of

your perceived

pain and

hurt,

almost as if

you were rather

too naïve and

innocent

to know

what you were

getting yourself

into when you

decided to truck

with him…

I couldn’t help

laughing heartily

and falling

so hard off

my chair

I am still

reeling in

pain;

I had nearly

broken my neck

and jaw,

and now,

I am

in stitches even

as I write –

funny to say,

but the SOB once

stepped on my

toes;

I had to

swat him

like a

fly,

you know,

one of those

big blue giants

one finds in

freshly dropped

payloads in

pit-latrines in

the boondocks –

Uncle Tee,

I hope

you never made

any pass

or wink

at this

ball-sucking

snitch –

what of this rude

mid-morning

depiction

of your

nudity

in the morgue,

hung and

all…

looking at his

angular head

and your square

jaws,

I am almost

tempted to plot

the link,

though I am

quite certain

there never was

any such

link,

real or

fancied –

but that which

intrigued me most

was one which

accused me of

dancing dervish

on your grave,

before the fact;

such is the extent

of the acute

lunacy

precipitated

by your

flight –

8/7/12