It has been a long time, a minute.
Sitting here smoking beside this freshly dead Koech and regarding
His bloated torso nicely drowned
In the Administration’s milk, I
Can’t help wondering why
We are lately coming across many half-finished lives
Bearing fingers clenched into
Were Koech me I would be ashamed of this obesity in death.
Unclench my fist into a farewell wave.
But why bother?
He dipped his ballot willfully and uppercut the air in triumph
Knocking himself out.
For the choice not to be represented but bonded.
Does the death of a jingo call for a long sip of beer enjoyed
Without the need to choke a scenting cigarette?
Does the death of a jingo call for a solemn funeral-expenses-offsetting harambee
At Garden Square?
Does the death of a jingo call us to consider rearing bees in ballot boxes,
Stuff black election boxes with African killer bees to sting
Every “X” for a halfwit choice?
It’s been a short time, two elections of counting beans.
Exhaling rancid cigarette incense into Koech’s dead nostrils
Through to his puffless lungs
I can’t help regret where his chest-thumping has taken him,
A dead gorilla in the next election’s poster.
We could be sharing a smoke with this obstinate one now.
Or belching after full lunch.
How do I contemplate this roulette: the bottle, the wallet or the ballot?
a lager served from a bottle rounded like Koech’s fully dead torso
a conscience pricked into contributing for Koech’s matanga
a finger stung back to voting reason?
Maybe let’s rear bees in ballot boxes, after all
Or pack cigarettes to mask the stench dead unrepresented slaves,
Stem the tide of half-lived lives punched off underweight fists.
Author: Open Mic
Open Mic Uganda is a company that presents people with a platform that promotes poetry, spoken word and related art forms. It encourages the enhancement of poetry as a recognized art form that can be used as a tool for education, communication and entertainment.