I saw a man who
Sits close to that conflagration of death,
Where the nerve cells at the epicenter of his naval cavity have been incapacitated.
His moist nose unaware of the dump land,
A paradigm for mans waste in a land flowing with gold
I saw a man, who scratches his beard,
With an accompanying musical tune ‘scra-scra’
To which the inimitable lice,
Grown fat from the warm blood flowing
Through the dark patches of loosely-sagging cheek danced.
I saw a man,
Who watches earnestly at passer-by
His taste bud anticipating,
His tongue wagging as if in imminent collapse
To see if those tight wad jeans would unravel crisp naira notes
Notes which would bring dotting smile to his wide scarred face.