The Son Of My Mother Poem by Oladapo Oladosu

The son of my mother is at it again.
He says the Agbada and Aso-ofi weigh too heavy
And they are not modern.
He feels comfortable when he wears the rope.

He rejects the food he ate while growing up,
He says the aroma makes him puke,
The son of my mother now has allergy
To the foods that made him so strong.
He now eats with a three-headed steel and a knife,
I pray he doesn't cut his tongue one day.

The son of my mother never allows his babe
To decorate her hairs with cowries and rub it withAdi agbon.
He prefers another woman's hair on her,
She either wears it or add it to hers.

The son of my mother now abhors our local medicine,
The medicine our mother bathed him with from
Toddler to when he started having wet dreams.
"Eew, your so called medicines smell like shii to me."
He prefers to be pierced with a needle.

The son of my mother says there is nothing
In his inheritance left for him by our father.
He prefers to go and pack snows and baby sit
In the West, where another son of my mother was killed recently.