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Errm…Be Ordinary Like Ants… by Teri Patrickson Wellington

31 Jan

Contrition twines my innermost soul
At Ebola’s call I don’t feel whole
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Wash your palms daily and even your soles!

Now, we do not touch even the anointed
Lest our hopes be roundly disjointed
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Wash your palms daily and even your soles!

Old Sawyer with the darkened heart
Did like a vampire eat a bat
And he suddenly began to get fat
Lagos was where he dropped for a start!

Give them Ebola! Give them the darts
There is no singularity of genital warts.
And they say old Sawyer sprayed on souls
Urea from within his evil bowls!

The whole of the west did get the fear
Eh! Paddy do not come near!
Wear long sleeves into the combi bus
You don’t know if your neighbor has pus!

It has been sprayed into the very air
Oh my God may we survive this year
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Wash your palms daily and even your soles!

True love is when she has real Ebola
And yet she rubs your neck and collar
And you still bring out the dollar
Like a very silly rich footballer!

Calls from home and the homily
Of hand sanitizers for hands or bodily
Ablution on the go…yes now? On the real go.
Wash your palms daily and even your toe!

It was in ’76 it all began
In Zaire of varied and several wan
It killed a woman, it killed a man
Ebola kills all including a SAN!

My friends ‘o’ halls became dejected
And handshakes and hugs they all rejected
In their minds they then injected
The serum of sequestration for the disjointed!

One day in the passage way
I stumbled upon M.C Kay
Who was so glad and did make hay
To his dismay, I turned away!

Wetindey worry you, you this boy?
Shey you think say I no get joy?
Because Ebola dey for town
Hin no mean say I no still be clown!

M.C Kay was a gifted comedian one
And he abhorred how events did turn
Between wig and very friendly clown
There then began to sprout spiteful boughs of thorn!

And in August we awoke one day
Take your bath with salt today…
Anapuna salt, not dangote
Better do it now, you better obey!

And the halls became filled with boys
Scampering for salt like long lost toys
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Wash your palms daily and even your soles!

Mothers called from distant homes
From habitations, houses with spires and domes
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Warm water for body and soul!

And some drank the water without ado
With salt and heat without a shoe
Anti-viral salts to fight the sore
And they were lured into capitalist shore.

A woman went blind not far away
Too much salt in her water on that fateful day
Into her eyes gbam! Into the bay
Of vision sodium held sway!

Jeffrey had his bath over seven times
At home, in the office, in varied climes
He was so scared while the clock did chime
Disaster lingered, death, oh scary dimes!

And I saw my heart leaving Fakwa
She was breathtaking to say the least
No beauty in Asia, Africa or Kukawa
Could rival my heart’s and I am no beast!

My heart was really worried about it all
Drink the salt or on your belly crawl
Primate moles, a burying of golden goals
Wash your palms daily even your soles!

Off I went to that ivory tower
That had the books and the cyber mower
Hard and soft knowledge, a grinning L.C.B Gower
Grinning full like after a cool shower!

Opinion polls showed damsels with bitter kola
Still having their baths with salt
They didn’t heed all the entreaties of pastor Kola
Who rode not in a jeep but on a colt!

Confusion enveloped fair Lagos that day
And my sinews could not make hay
I sat brooding beside the sea
Thinking about my heart and erstwhile fee.

We turn out so called graduates yearly
And they claim to be learned but barely
Are they better than peasants who rarely
Test and weigh ideas in their belly!

So will the beast emerge with a like-antic
And in our haste, we being frantic
Might stumble into forewarned cove
God make our fears but like queer jove!

I know a man that prepared a pot of stew
And did have his bath even with meat that’s skew
If salt could heal my sinew…
Why not a glorious salt filled stew?

Our education is not to brag or boast
Samaritan’s purse has Branthley et al living today
Not because with cups they toast
When danger comes, they do make hay.

And I know in Sambisa too
They wash their hand and backsides too…
Though they are crude and don’t wear shoes
They have caught the Ebola muse.

I think I wan’ a-stop here.
Thanks to the berg of Rennyish hills…
And to Omengature…the man that’s sound…
Ubaka of stealthy wit…
Mother loves us all with love so sweet!

August, 2014.

Culled from Lex Observer archives

 

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