Cletus and His Bottle

by Lucky James Evbouan

Cletus and His Bottle

Dead drunk, buried in his bottle

Tucked away in the right armpit

Cletus rose suddenly, swaying

Dangling upward like a kite

Caught in the boughs of a tree

Squinting in the even blaze, he

Hiccupped in a cupped left hand

Blinked twice, wiped his face

Three random steps, an abrupt stop

He appraised the expanse ahead

With a creased forehead and a blank gaze

He recalled only one path

By which he’d come half a day earlier

Now, everything seemed different

The bottle, drawn from its loft, and

Tipped for a swig, cleared the fog

“He would not sow who observes the wind”

The journey home Cletus must make

Of the self-multiplying routes

Only one path may be trusted

With a rueful smile, he tossed forward

His bottled companion in tow, to the ditch

To await, in slumber, the rude tap

Of the sun’s sliver the next morn.

Black Africa

Carrying on a languid living

Fettered in poverty and squalor

Governed by extravagant monarchs

A pageantry of predacious leaders.

Wrested from slavery and colonialism

Struggling still with neo-colonialism

You boast of wars and kingdom domination

Of indigenous art and virgin culture.

O that you will rise from the ashes-

The smouldering ashes of cannibalism

Of avarice and retro-reasoning

And a cavernous hopeless tomorrow!

Manacled minds possess no selfless traits

Can a future of rest and advancement

Buried yet in the graveyard of waste

Be recovered in altruism?

Can this land birth and nurture her -

This land that shows signs of bewitchment

Entrenched in greed and inequity

Decaying where others gloriously bloom?

Selfless service is sacrifice in view

Of a future robust and true

Fetish sacrifices such as Africa knows

Have not transformed her feral conducts.

Lucky James Evbouan is a Nigerian poet, teacher and motivator. You can see more of his work on his blog.