Afternoon Animals Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

It's still early afternoon,
but the sky has been
diving into its closet

for gray and shadow dresses
hanging in air's smoke.

Bees buzz again
on roof tops after warblers
have raised their voices
across falling skies,

flapped hawk wings
sending chickens
to roost in the tent
of a peaking, mumbling sky.

In the wind, rushing rats
are squeaking
through trees' head-lowering
crowns whistling
with new birds sailing in,

as warblers slide off
roof tops
into the low whispers
of an afternoon

shutting sleepy drooping
brows over fading eyes.

What are chattering
chimpanzees doing on cottages
and mist-dwarfed bungalows?

Spidery air grows back a sun
pecking with kite rays
at light gray clouds
and nibbling off feathers
of slimming flying specks.
(ii)

Are the animals bouncing
back, as Nain bleats
out we should go strolling

under muted whispers
and a brightening sun
cruising through to fill hanging
slots of dim skies?

Are screaming birds flying
back to far-flung nests,
as Nyeah yelps out
we settle under a tree
spreading a wide canopy,

an umbrella of leafy branches
building a nook
for a barbecue and a drink

to steer the afternoon
into the low whistles
of early dusk still snailing in?

(iii)

O Nyeah, the air begins
to beat different drums,
as leopards and lions
growl and groan

on roof tops. And dogs bark
across the sky
now wearing a graphite cloak,

as the sun tumbles
into a deep valley
of bleating goats,
their shepherds trailing behind
with mooing cows.

But as we settle down
in the living room
cut off from the voices
of loud animals,

squawking chicks
scratch our roof top,
as the mail man rings
the door bell

with the wildest
roaring animal,

a bill from an electricity
hawk flapping wings
with hundreds

of green whistling dollars
trailing roaring parties
under our new garden hangar

now sheltering whispering
small birds swallowing
their tongues.