By Wale Olaogun
(After those wounded and killed by SARS)
my home is an abattoir & tourist centre
when blood are scare like virgins on Allen street
in your eyes are banks of blood,
paintings of bodies lying lifeless like deserted
soldiers in Sambisa
those that did not die are carriers of rift
that started within your mind,
to your mouth, before the devil speaks
to your palms
..and then you grease your irons
with our blood, everyday.
& whenever our bodies speak of wealth,
there is already an outstanding grave
in a uniform, by the road.
