The Thatch Hut. Poem by Tony Adah

There is a thatch hut
On the right side of the road
Towards Akasum on Bishiri road
And it licks their pockets dry
Those participants who worship here.

Every day every one toils
To be a slave to this place
Where palmwine, beer, spirits
And burukutu, cowleg, cow tail, cow tongue,
Kpomo are served and savoured.
It is a gist mill where the candidates
That the governor annointed are known
And spouses foibles and troubles
Are let out a rumour bag.

It is also a students' spot
Where lads and maids mix up
In their weird ways-
Lads cuffs unlinked and sagging shorts
And maids eye brows and nails and lips
Are a canvass pretty to behold
By the the participants.

At night there are flickers of light
From the bulbs and cigarettes
And clouds of smoke that look
Like the hut is burning
There's a great noise
Undecipherable to the un initiate
And this is where the
Police and the cultists clashed
And this tavern owner
Missed in cross fire.