HALO

If my face must be muddied by you,

Be ready to muddy your hands too

It is at the handshake of sea sand

And the sea, that moisture shores

Are born;

You, child of a dog, whose father your mother

Can’t identify among the never unending

Cue of bedsharers,

You, whose front teeth and pick-axe

Cannot be differentiated by microscope

You, whose urethra opened in your pants

At our meeting at the market square

And you never knew it until the feasting flies

Announce it to the gathering,

Today you sit there and count the kiosks

In which I laid my head near the Alajo gutter

Because I lack shelter in a foreign family,

Don’t let me expose your vulture face

To gatherers of shame to buy for free

And display at the Trade Fair

For children to come and spit upon,

Step on those needles you call legs

And carry your elephant-tusk-nose

Away before I opened my eyes.

Pass my eye-steps again and vomit

And I shall bath you at noon

With the white truth of our ancestor

Captured a slave, died and buried in shit.

31/12/11 Mafi-Kumase.