Am I John? Poem by Patrick Monamodi

John is a composer of idioms,
a mixer of phrases,
a painter of poems.
John is not insane—
he is an orator,
a weaver of rhyme,
figurative in speech.

John does not like silly nicknames,
nor insults,
nor sarcastic scoundrels.
John is almost a chef, a cook;
he loves nature,
eats digital food
with words.

John is a shadow of padres,
once dissecting verses,
still growing flowers.
John is not English;
he only has
English-spewing fingertips
on keyboards.

John was Digital Sechmore yesterday,
Monkey Tribal the day before,
a Pointed Hill dweller today.
John is defence—Phemelo;
a prickly shrub—Sechi;
a foreigner—Motswasele;
a rescuer—Monamodi.
On the other hand,

I too am Phemelo,
Bothakga, Digawana,
Lobatse, Ntlhantlhe,
Patrick, and Botswana.
I am Monax on Mondays,
Mpheme on Wednesdays;
on my couch,
I am Mister Em.

John and I are identical twins—
we wear the same shoes at a go.
I am more like John.
Let us just say I am John.
Except the tag reads
J-O-H-N,
spoken by Tswana poets as JOHANE.

Truth be told,
I am Patrick Phemelo Monamodi
in John's skin.