Rugged chunk of metal, you deadly contrivance
Witness the bout of survival at the
threshold of your rump.
The ribald
Tailboy’s distasteful rhetoric, protean,
according to his whims-gone!
His soul is now
stricken with the gory pangs of death, the
laminated windscreen a patch of his blood.
Your patrons, innocent, face towards their
destination, now twisted in the ugly
Contortion of your wreckage.
Here now, where
three souls cry in agony, blood is
mixed with the filthy excrement
that is flesh, oil, and blood. Suddenly,
they are no more. Worries and aspirations are
immediately brought to a final conclusion. But,
they are human. With flesh, with thoughts, with hopes,
all now scattered across the weeping face of the road. They have
taken their unannounced exit. Suddenly,
they carry a specter of mourning, dressed in black, heading towards
the final judgment
The downward trend of the horizon
ends up on the tombstone. Epitaphs
are written in golden clay. But behind them
it is agony and mourning.
Everyone weeps for them. But,
they have taken their exit while
we wait in silence.
Lagos-Ibadan Road
1975