The Shakeup

The phenomena in my country
In recent times, like aphrodisiacs,
Are jerking my quills
With erection to wind another yarn.

My paper lays bare
On my night bed
Like a waiting bride on her first night,
And I will write
Yet another tabloid
On fantastic corruption in Nigeria again.

Can we ever gather together
Without having to steal?
This national cake,
What is it made of?
That we would rather loot
Than share it among ourselves.

Now the children must witness
This senseless tragic episode
Of bleeding of Niger Delta
By its own development commission.
They must learn to pass out, like the NDDC chair,
When asked to give account.

They must learn new words:
“Legislooters” and “executhieves”
The latter says: ‘ Mr. Chairman, let me land.’
The former beating the gavel ferociously screams:
‘Hon. Minister, no. It’s okay.’
‘Mr. Chairman, I have to land please.’
‘I say it’s okay. Off your mic... Off the mic!’

And the resounding echo of the gavel
Continues to reverberate in our tatty consciousness
As a people who have repudiated
To call a spade a spade.
We like calling it a garden spoon.