A Cornfield's Jackets Poem by Felix Bongjoh

The storm cruised in,
jump-landing
on grass that laid low,
chilled by a silence.

The hurricane swung
a mile-long lance,
butchering stalks
grains still in their hands.

A rainstorm poured down
with a stool, sitting
on the cornfield,
a fly catcher the only friend,

who gave the stooping
brown leaves a timely shave,
thrusting them back
to carry sun in shy faces.

The stalks wore emerald grins
again and again
powdering themselves

with the golden glow
of cobs that carried tassels
in their brown jackets.

The stalks raised
dread-locked heads
again, sneezing out
dust and ash from
burnt branches in a harmattan roar.

Coughing out from
tawny and tan jackets
thick hairy lumps of grasshoppers
that had dodged
the hurried flycatcher's scissors.