YRKB
07-30-2017, 05:57 PM
They wanted power and it smelled like the right time -
from the blood and burning tyres running loose in the roads;
in bed he'd turn to her and say 'Feels like this country's almost mine'
'fore she'd cuddle in close, tap her painted finger on his nose.
Poor nation pined for what no politics would give:
cutting ribbons in slums and kissing the sick -
so that's just double act the two of them did,
cutting and kissing their way through crowds quick.
Rallying round them the people amassed
thinking salvation was coming at last,
illiterate, hungry, hopeful and dumb
strung banners, screamed slogans -
saw that they won.
They wanted spoils and the schemes soon paid off -
the foreign aid racket, the tax that they rose;
in bed he'd turn and say 'Feels like we don't get enough'
'fore she'd cuddle in to coo 'It's the Minister of Finance you chose.'
Poor nation pined for what it still couldn't get:
chances out of skid row on new roads made of brick,
but seasons changed and they waited yet -
chancing rainstorms in homes made of tin sheet and sticks.
Treasury.
The only asset in a place
where poverty marks every face
and adults cry like babies do,
stretch out their arms for lifting too.
Treasury.
It's why they came and why they'll stay,
whether or not the ballots say.
Amidst the human, howling sea
they'll drift atop the
Treasury.
Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown
from the blood and burning tyres running loose in the roads;
in bed he'd turn to her and say 'Feels like this country's almost mine'
'fore she'd cuddle in close, tap her painted finger on his nose.
Poor nation pined for what no politics would give:
cutting ribbons in slums and kissing the sick -
so that's just double act the two of them did,
cutting and kissing their way through crowds quick.
Rallying round them the people amassed
thinking salvation was coming at last,
illiterate, hungry, hopeful and dumb
strung banners, screamed slogans -
saw that they won.
They wanted spoils and the schemes soon paid off -
the foreign aid racket, the tax that they rose;
in bed he'd turn and say 'Feels like we don't get enough'
'fore she'd cuddle in to coo 'It's the Minister of Finance you chose.'
Poor nation pined for what it still couldn't get:
chances out of skid row on new roads made of brick,
but seasons changed and they waited yet -
chancing rainstorms in homes made of tin sheet and sticks.
Treasury.
The only asset in a place
where poverty marks every face
and adults cry like babies do,
stretch out their arms for lifting too.
Treasury.
It's why they came and why they'll stay,
whether or not the ballots say.
Amidst the human, howling sea
they'll drift atop the
Treasury.
Copyright Yafeu-Khamisi Rodway-Brown