The Day My Dad Spoke To Me From His Grave Poem by *Tony Cemaluk Egbuonu

Coming back from a school visit to a neighboring town,
still dressed like a rascal —
dark glasses on,
face cap turned to the back,
moving with that low, zig-zag, snake dance.

Two elders stopped me.
A man and a woman.

'Young man, ' they said,
'we are shocked to see you.
You are the replica of our late business neighbor.
We don't even need to ask. We know you are his son.
Your father was a very good man.

We are not happy with this rascal dressing.
Please behave well, like your father.
Face your books and drop this nonsense.
It will not pay you.'

I became sober immediately.
I adjusted my face cap to the front.
I removed what I had tied across my forehead.
I straightened my clothes
and walked gently back home.

I never displayed that behavior again.

I was shocked to the marrow
that people could trace me to my root
just by how much I looked like my dad.

A good name has no hiding place.
My father's good name remained a checkmate
to my behavior and dealings.