My Mansion Poem by Simbarashe Raymond Mudukuti

I ain't intellectual like one of the suburb folks
This me here ain't no baccalaureate
Nor was I born with a silver spoon or any other silverware
I live in the ghetto
That's what I can afford
This unwelcoming atmosphere is what I call home
Come in and mind the clothes line as u enter
Take a seat where you see fit
That 20 litre bucket is my sofa
Please feel at home

What can I give you?
"I hope they say nothing because that's what's in here" my left brain tells the right
In this part of town we drink borehole water and it's downstairs
Tap water is a fairy tale
We last had it when we last had a good economy and that was never
The air in the room turns stiff as everyone looks at me with those eyes
The "Don't talk politics" eyes

My roommate is out working
He is a garbage collector
Not the official ones but an underground one
I personally am a hustler, from phones to gadgets to whatever can be sold quickly
Tried the drug business but the old folks ratted me out to the cops
Though when talking they seem folksy
Had to pay a lump sum to avoid incarceration
So as you can see I'm back to zero


As you enter the building
Sewage is oozing out of the municipal man holes
The sewer system has been overpopulated
With a ratio of 4 per room in these 16m2 cubicle you can imagine
The walls are dark brown coloured with dirt, originally they were cement grey
Last night I could sleep, my neighbours were consummating
The noise made it feel like I was sleeping in a brothel
They were making erotic sounds
Had to masturbate myself to sleep

If one person cooks chicken, all the rooms smell of freshly roasted relish
If its electricity we won't even say
The affluent here cook with gas
While the rest of us use charcoal
So when cooking times falls, it like a steam engine in here
There is no need to tell you about the health hazards,
You already figured that out yourself
It might seem like I'm expressing displeasure but it is what it is
It's just a description of the place I call my home
And please stop staring at the oranges on the other half of the room
They ain't mine, that's somebody else's room