Send Me Pigs On A Postcard Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Fortune tellers have no fortune
If they did they would be fortunate.
Healers have no wounds
If they did they would have scars
To make us see where they come from
To create a reputation
Of pride about years of training.

For a well never dries up
When it is dug up deep into the depths
In the aquifer of this time.

I cannot be a guinea pig
Because they do not send postcards
With pictures of pigs
But those of rare birds
When Guinea is full of pigs.

The fortune teller says
He knows women are liars.
They say they are sick
Whey they do not want to be touched.
Like alcoholics who drink
who lie to their boss the Monday morning after
When the hangover hits them.


He tells the man who goes to Guinea to enjoy
Go as far and have a break
And send cards of things unseen here.
To get money into his pockets

I receive my cards with rarities
And know I am being deceived
My mind being bought
So it cannot demand the truth
By asking for pictures of pigs
Wearing lingerie not seen
For he has abandoned me.