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Felix Bongjoh

Shisong-Bui, Cameroon

Linen Ride Horses


Gusts have been
snorting through
touching bags
on a crackling deck,

steel lines in the garden
nickering against
iron poles and old
pots of withered plants.

Wind beats drums
as wooden crates
strike each other,

leaned plastic boxes
tapping spines
and butts of walls,

kicking empty jars
and cans to rattle
and rattle against each other,

scrub and brush
old cartons wheeled to spin
in narrow straits,
other pieces of junk
rolling into each other.

Stretched hands
of gusts push empty
milk powder cans

against earthenware
pots and plastic jars
full of baby toys
on the back yard veranda.


Through loud-mouthed
metallic bodies,
wind clinks and clicks,

dragging rabbit tails
of honking, clucking
balls of debris.

As the sun bakes air
into a lowered brown veil
and cornsilk and tan

screens, dusk creeping
in with bisque
and ecru lanes of air,

wind gallops, throwing off
linen from clinking lines.

On the drifting deck
wind caterwauls amid
cartwheeled linen

riding faster galloping horses
of a gale devouring
squealing and chattering
animals on a rattling deck.
Felix Bongjoh
Sunday, September 13, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: wind

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1/26/2021 7:11:32 PM #