A nation drunk with corrupt mixture;
adamant barnacles firmly attached to her vessel of indifference;
worms, belligerent, lay ambush in her throat for scarce consumptions
On the way to idle intestines
Should we not deny the termites and canker worms of meal, declare a dry lent and quell this menace?
Shouldn’t we quell the fiesta of muscled flies on our shameful deposit?
In this utopia of woodlice
In this corrupt autocracy said to be nascent
This patrimony of belligerent parasites we owe our laborious existence
Tell me, who will cut down these old Irokos of madness
For this thick undergrowth to feel the sun?
Except this prowling cat will bell itself.
©Sesan Ogundele Jan 2012