Second-Hand Man Poem by TMA

He stands,
In his ‘mtumba’ suit
In his second-hand shoes…
Even his smoke is second-hand
’Cause he can’t afford the matches
Much less a habit…

Even his thoughts are second-hand
Planted there by others
He’s been taught how to think
And his mind is boxed in
He never thinks outside the box-
Content within the confinement of his mind.

Even his dreams are second-hand
He dreams of being rich,
Of being famous,
Of that one big break-
’Cause that is the dream
Of his forebears and contemporaries…

He trusts in his leaders,
The tried and the tested-
New ideas are dangerous
So he trusts minds ‘greater than his’
To do his thinking for him,
To tell him how to dream…

Perhaps he will die
In some spectacular way-
Perhaps a singular explosion,
Or an originally grisly accident…
So that there may be something remarkable
Something to remember him for…