By Ogwiji Ehi-Kowochio
I I do not want to talk about how blunt dodo
Threatens to slice flesh like grandma’s cutlass
But I will talk about how the unchained smoke
of temper diffuses from the nostrils of hunger
where its fire of flameless burns
Son, a man must learn to handcuff the fumes
Of his wrath, else his soul exudes an odor-
Too terrible to be masked by sweet scents.
The same must grow ears on his palms and carry
An entourage of silence around
For sealed lips and listening hands
Have bailed many from the cell of baseless fights
and the mud of senseless arguments,
which irredeemably stains a man’s ego.