CRISPY SATIRE (ISSUE 8)
TWO POEMS | EBENEZER ADARAMODU ZERRY
The preacher’s daughter has a relic of quid.
Her body is an oasis of charade,
She quibbles at the stretch of a pyramid.
In her mouth,
There is a wild city where wild boys
Throw stones at the Pope.
This is an impiety to the laws of the city.
Oh! They said pope never sowed a seed,
But for his fruits, how and where do they grow?
Perhaps, he plants the seeds in his room,
The seeds grow into trees and fruits.
A sister clears these fruits
When they grow wild and turn to weed,
These are the forbidden fruits.
In this city that has a preacher,
A daughter will turn to a sister
And a sister will turn to a daughter.
SWEETENED WITH CUBES
For Sugar Daddies
Catch the breathe of air
In cool ambience.
Be choked with dosage
Of ephemeral pleasures
And be satisfied.
Be sweetened with cubes
Of ephemeral pleasures
But how can a father be sweet to his daughter?
Perhaps, a journey into bitterness
Drives home some sweet sense.
This journey from good to bad
Is only few kilometres.
On this journey,
You will see different stops,
Deception is before deceit,
Lust is before love,
Challenge is after problems.
Home is never far away.
One day, home would welcome travellers
And the journey would be far from good or bad
For the father and daughter.
EBENEZER ADARAMODU ZERRY (Zerrified Poet) is a graduate of Microbiology from Adekunle Ajasin University, Ondo State, Nigeria. His works have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Poets in Nigeria Quarterly Journal, Enkare Magazine, African Writer and Praxis Magazine. He loves photography.
POT OF GOLD: | Agbaakin O. Jeremiah
they said after1960
man became more sapient.
Douglas Engelbart followed God
and weaved the oceans the wide net.
& and many a fish it gathered.
like a miracle not miraculous
it was torn by many mad people it caught:
last night online,
i caught a nymph —
a harlot who asked for a fortune
to baptize my flesh into her slacken hive—
$50 per round
as if when she hits heaven,
liquid gold runs out of her walls
into the sheets.
into the streets.
Agbaakin O. Jeremiah, a Nigerian poet and a campus editor, studies law in the University of Ibadan. He was on the shortlist of the 2017 Korea-Nigeria Poetry Prize. His works are featured on several publications.
LETTER TO A BILLIONAIRE FRIEND | Osuji Chisom
I grant that compared to yours my town’s
Out of fashion. You spend all evenings in
expedition to Saturn with a bottle of
Cheval Blanc on a spacecraft cushion.
The wives won’t miss you, they have their gold
and limos, and maids, and whatever to keep
thoughts from bothering your voyage.
Marvel at this waterfall that holds the beauty
Of my town where unclad children in spirited
Leap and puerile drama sing over brimmed
calabash. Between the shade of bright mango
leaves you may observe as lads and maidens
In hushed tones converse over the particulars
Of their weekends; A nightlife in a local club
Where palm wine is the unbranded sister of
Hennessy. Who cares? So long as the music
Is up and legs are stretching; here’s Dubai to us.
You don’t get that in your alien world. Do you?
You shower in a fibreglass pool, state-of-the-art,
I grant that. But there is too much chlorine
and muratic acid blended in, and would soon
bloat that big-boat-belly off your expensive body.
We have the statistics of your girlfriends
And their backseat kids. You promised
‘Harvard’ so long as they don’t yell
‘he’s-responsible’ to the headlines
Because you have what you call ‘public
Reputation’ and ‘prospective elections.’
It’s laughable how little you think of us who
struggle at the nadir of life, thinking you had
Bagged all the gold for yourself: that we are
Blinds who will only follow your whistles.
Your alien fellows will nod to that since they
Too are cerebrum of straws.
But here in our ‘outdated’ condo, comfort thrives.
We’ve found joy in the ordinary life and ordinary
Things that glitter the heart. Hold your delis.
I see the smart doctors whispering ‘cancer.’
Too much chocolate in your system.
NB: I’m mashing potato with fried plantain.
Hope you like that too. Please date your reply.
FOR GIRLS IN COATS OF FEAR
Your mother picked the night
And cut herself into dark halves
Then she found you on the other side.
You did not remember when sleep came
Cuddled you, and drove you faraway.
But you woke bruised on a bed of stone.
What would tomorrow bring?
You didn’t know because somehow, somewhere
Your father’s beast mode got activated, again.
You ran to your mother’s side
But she was the genesis
where everything war-like began.
You hated how Africa spelt women in lowercase.
A sick-ster nearby fought her husband, she won.
You loved her new freedom. She was a feminist.
A boy from the senior class called you pretty.
He must be different. You met love, unclad.
He opened your leg – pierced and bruised you
You cried, moaned, mourned, and bled.
But he left. He said he touched bitterness
Every time he forced his fingers inside you.
You touched your breasts, held your nipples
and remembered how he counted blessings on them
Indeed, men are trash.
Another man came, then another, and another
They were all snowflakes, leaving you wet.
At quarter to thirty, thirsty.
A man at your left brought water
You drank and dragged him to your right.
You called him Mr. Right and got married –
Years later, he returned to the left
where he belonged.
But you found something before he left –
your living portrait.
You showed her your mother’s grave
And how your fathers palm sat upon it.
She has perhaps wronged him again, in heaven.
You told her marriage is no achievement
But she already had whom she found different
She has become one of them –
girls in coats of fear.
Micheal Ace is a poet, essayist and fiction/nonfiction writer from Osun State, Nigeria. His literary works have appeared on both local and foreign blogs and journals. He is the author of “Sermon From A
Stammerer”, a collection of poems and “Scarlet Silk”, a 14-poem chapbook on lust. Micheal Ace is a poet who never stops learning and exploring.