Echoes Of Choices: The Conductor's Regret Poem by Kofi Derrick Agbesi

He scowls at the fat passenger as she steps in last.
Why should she delay his task with such elegant steps?
Where do gentility and patience fit in this toil?
He muses these queries silently,
Slams the rickety bus door, and declares, "Massa, away! "

The half-drunk driver in a faded local jersey revs the old engine to life.
If not Kaneshie to Sowutuom, where else would it be?
And dread not, "Hold Your Gun, " a meaning the latter carries, nothing more.
Ah, but where from this searing heat?
For relief, he, the conductor, doffs his dirty red bandana off his clean-shaven head,
Feeling haggard, once plump, now a mere bag of bones.

Looking back through time, regret pierces through his years.
A path that could have led to greatness,
Perhaps a distinguished lawyer,
Maybe a skilled medical practitioner, or even a tycoon,
But he wouldn't listen to his parents.
In fact, as the only child, he fought his mum
When she wanted to give him a good education, a better training.
Instead, the next day found him in the hood, a cigarette tucked in the mouth,
And another day, putting a girl in trouble and yet another,
And hoping his parents' vast assets will secure him a future,
But only to realize those assets had been bequeathed to a trusted houseboy.

Looking further back, regret washes over him,
Messed-up chances, golden dreams, now in complete arrears.
Yet he still must gather these meagre cedis from these unfamiliar faces,
And give proper account to the driver, a fellow as dubious as a mirage!
But only for that night to survive on a miserable meal that tastes like paper.

And after settling unchanged passengers, amid the fare increase commotion,
He takes his seat, motions to that schoolboy, and murmurs,
'Scholar, I no cast my dice well; make you waka well for your future.'