MY LAST MEAL
These days
I smile
People asking me,
Hot-red glow(er)ing splinters dancing in their eye,
'Do you even know suffer?'
I just smile
Not because I perceive the aroma of Naira notes
Falling like the torrents of rain.
I heave a rueful sigh at his memory
And simply say 'I knew him'
'Until his death, I used to call him - Uncle'
'Farewell Old Foe' the Preacher man saluted on that day...
To the memories of hunger
Of penury
Of dry storehouses
Of morsels without the affection of a young red pepper sauce
Glowing with chilly ruddy hotness
My last meal with him.
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