Waiting To Celebrate Poem by Jacob Kobina Ayiah Mensah

Ever since Brother Ian brought down
his wife, Anna, from St Petersburg
through the postal mail
he has not been happy.

See that deep gully on his face,
filled with sweat and heat;
and when nobody is around
inside the yard, he whispers

to the wind, 'Why all these? '
But he cannot stop
resting his eyes on the bitches
that walk in from here.

We in our helmets, wanting
to metamorphose, quarrelling
among ourselves (because
everybody yearned badly to heir

Anna when the long journey
with the train ends in divorce
very soon) , eavesdropping
in the garden, watering

the adjective poems, containing
insects, while keeping the trapdoor
high above my siblings, we define
and explain every word in the wind.

Just some few minutes ago
at the breakfast table when
there was not enough cake
for everyone


and waiting for his declaration
of exacerbating, Uncle John
broke the news, 'Your brother
and his wife have gone back to Russia.'