Beggars At Rest. Poem by Tony Adah

On the façade of the moribund
Post office on Calabar road
Some tattered umbrellas lined as if in a competition
Each had a protuberance
Of white, brown and black legs
Lying in the morning sun.

The men and women who scavenge the streets
Have come to roost in broad daylight
Indifferent to the hustling -bustling of the town
They may not for days have tasted of food
Their lips scaly and dry
From the winter's wind.

Still their eyes bore a tear
That meant nothing to the pendulous public
Perfunctorily but rarely dropping a coin
These people society has planted by its fringes
Where will their souls go to
When they slough off
And become part of the earth?