PEASANT BY SYL-CHEYNEY COKER
The agony: I say their agony
The agony of imagining their squalor but never knowing it
The agony of cramping them in roach infected shacks
The agony of treating them like chattel slaves
The agony of feeding them abstract theories they do not understand
The agony of their lugubrious eyes and bartered soul
The agony of giving them party card but never party support
The agony of marshalling them on Election Day but never on barguest nights
The agony of giving them malliferous words but mildewed bread
The agony of their cooking hearths damped with unuse
The agony of their naked feet on the hot burning tarmac
The agony of their children with projectile bellies
The agony of long miserable nights
The agony of their thatched houses with too many holes
The agony of erecting hotels but being barred from them
The agony of watching the cavalcade of limousines
The agony of ground state balls for God knows who
The agony of those who study meaningless “ism” in incomprehensible language
The agony of intolerable fees for schools but no jobs in night
The agony of it all I say the agony of it all but above all the damn
Agony of appealing to their patience
Africa bewares! Their patience is running out!!
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