A Fortnight At The Farm Poem by John Sensele

No bed, no bed, no bed
No pillow for my head
Sprawling on polythene bags
No roof over our hut. June tags

Christine and I imbibed at Chibuli
Pine Residence in oblivion. Our glee
Sufficed, our feet not iced, a wood heater
Warmed the porous hut in the Chibulu theatre

Where in the wee hours of the morning
I'd wake up to stalk logs, not snoring
But dreaming sweet dreams
Sometimes, hyenas would prowl in teams

Maize grain sticks would beat
Seeds streaming into a hollow kit
Where eager hands would collect
Affect, effect, eject, reject, project or select.