The Villagers Poem by Tony Adah

Half walls rendered aground
by the honed edges of penury
And the village folk stampede and struggle
in the ruins
The old tin sheets hung up
beaten rusty by the elements
Children half clad and naked
their bodies smeared in gray granules
of dust
And the reeks of poverty rise and fall
upon the shoulders unable to respond
There's palm wine
There's local gin
And these are delibitating drinks
Between the absent meals
The road is lost to weeds
And shrubs and grasses kiss
In the middle of the road.
Those who run errands drink dews
From the bleeding leaves
And their shins bathed in dews
Perhaps the only one in a lifetime.