Poetry

I recently decided to re-write (or at the vey least, re-think) all 21 poems that used to be on this page. Here then, I present poem 1 of 21 to make it through this exercise.

Traffic on Lagos Expressway

A poem by Charles E. Oyibo

A veritable motley—those Lagosians,
Igala, Igbira, all creeds and persuasions.
Confined in space by the obdurate traffic,
Of that bedraggled Lagos Expressway (sic).

Street hawkers, bus conductors, sweat-imbued,
O-sho-di straight, no stop o, Oshodi, Oshod...
No bother about that dead street light,
Brother, better upgrade to panoramic sight.

The cadaverous Yellow Fever appears presently,
Directing, controlling, gesticulating wildly.
Abracadabra, he makes as swift a disappearance;
Lo, the Mercedes v-boot just made a clearance.

‘Omo ale!’ snarls the Peugeot driver, violated;
Others rant and curse, verily desecrated.
The swearing and raving come to naught;
Mercedes man has long reached his cot.

What traffic? Padi, cut through that petrol station!
In fact, complicate this knotty reticulation.
Maneuver here, maneuver there,
Walahi, worsen this web of festering ire.

Hallelujah, that car just moved an inch or so;
Maza, maza, let’s go for the close, go, go.
Ah, too quickly, too close; the brakes fail,
Wham, the Fiat slams into the Beetle’s tail.

Horns blare, doors fly open and slam shut,
‘You don hit my car!’ howls Ms. Beetle, nerves taut.
Behold: the cacophony of assault and expletive,
In English, Kanuri, Urhobo, and Tiv.

© 2006, Charles. E. Oyibo.

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