
A Ship at Half Mast
Lying there is Lugard’s Yard
Set asail with pomp but now in the hands of pirates
Floating Disaster is what I am called by the trim sailors
Who party, part with cheap deals but avoid popularity
‘all the rest is sinking sand’
If pimples were patches
I have so many
So many spills of blood, brains and crude oil
So many colours and shades of whatever-happens
Without any sense of anchor.
‘all the wait is sinking sand’
The storms have always come
But with a calm sailor; knowing nothing to do
Helter -skelter are mere dance steps
On the fort and the basement
Like church dis-services,
I am a ship at half mast.
Jonah’s sleep is longer
For when the votes of belongings cast
They are rigged.
There is buying and selling in the temple
And knives are rampant.
There are no brooms to sweep, no swathe of keeps.
I am err of the father
I am disjointed in the sprung
I HOUSE the children of LUCIFER
‘we are legion for we are many’.
May day! May day!
Our strong people’s salute, expectedly.
We live not in glass house but in broken bottles.
Venting our angst on vendor’s stands
But mulling silence later
For I am a Ship at half mast
Big HOME for pickles, pricks and pick-pockets.
I am the pride of many ships; abandoned for reclamation
It is hard to be born again when the leeches stick tough at your old back.
So there is no need to holler
‘ Sir, There is a ship very far from us, it’s at half mast’
‘Must be the Floating Disaster waiting to be history’.
FEMI MORGAN
16 th April 2010