Poetic Justice (3)

By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.

I am
simply too old
to be mesmerized
by raw deceit
packaged
in the dubious
name of a song
on a CD
too broken
in too many parts
to make sense
to a generation
in dire search
of hope
and peace...
make way for
a meaningful prophecy
to properly preserve
and make good
of whatever
may be left
of the feast
of those fools
who mistook
the guard change
for a season
of theft and
self-aggrandizement -
my belly aches
at this fatuous
attempt to turn
traitors and thieves
into heroes
and saints...
yes,
my belly aches
at this shameless
hogging
of public space
in display of
damaged goods
that never left
the remaindered shelf
of the printer's
warehouse -
what was therein
to sell,
but the grafted tongues
of toddlers
who brassily
presumed to dine
with their elders
long before
they had even learned
to walk,
much less
wash their hands
clean with soap,
trim their nails
with crocodile teeth -
I resent
this devious
shedding of
crocodile tears
in glaring display
of glad-handed
commiseration...
dusk draws
dangerously nigh,
dear uncle
who is not
my uncle,
shall never be
my uncle and
cannot be
my uncle
by dint of
sacrilege,
you can huff
and puff
and scream
screeds of regret
and shame,
I will not
be conned,
I shall still
hold you
and your stale
and badly concocted
yarns at bay;
you who denied
kinship with my sire
in the village square,
I hereby deny you
ancestorhood
in perpetuity;
you hitched
your wagon
to the trailer
of a tribal
thug,
and so
you shall burn
in a ball
of flames...
nobody killed
that wayward waif,
Antwi,
the ungrateful
taboo breaker;
Antwi slipped
his swallow's neck
in a noose
meant for
his foe -

10/5/13