Poem: Legend of The Danfo
weary from my interstate trip, i jump into a fast moving
rusty bus. here it is called danfo.
a legend worshipped and patronized by
smartness is the law here. you either hold that
double figure rolex or one smelling somebody
wearing an angry face full of scary marks
will confiscate it. to confiscate here is
a voice standing tall against dictionary meaning.
it is to steal. to take and be gone.
on rainy days, charges for drops go up
like uncontrolled erections. the ugly
conductor understands your pitiable look
under the stinging rain so he maximizes his
daily take and funds his way to a better life from
the windows are useless. come rain or shine.
see for yourself, can you not see
the sun’s shadow on top my head? or has your
sight dried like the drops of rain
that landed on my scalp?
i am not saying anything again.
gossip about boys, biafra talks, badoo gists
are too juicy to ignore.