By Ezekiel Fajenyo
A sender stoutly stuffed my expectant tummy
with house- filled books
and treasured documents
without a space for sweet- smelling dollars,pounds
or even sex toys with aroma of hibiscus.
I was grandly loaded with roomy papers of proud testimonies
and earth- pounding sentences of frightening power;
I walked away,not in haste to my delivery point and waited.
I asked nosey,mute postal agents
why I must stand arms akimbo for ages
but a mocking laughter met my shocked,tearful stares and then a thin voice dropped it in my heavy ears:
” If only you had a perfumed bandage of glittering dollars
or well- wrapped,enveloped
ego- massaging euros,
you would have stood a chance in their bank accounts,also waiting arms akimbo!
But now,you must be kept in dark,hidden cupboards,waiting
until the Second Coming,
for delivery vans and motorcycles had been cheaply sold out at
Oyingbo market!”
