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ABRUNI RUN
Accra is coughing,
Up smoggy dirt red chunks of people.
Tro-tro go, tro-tro go.
Spreads like black mold
In paw-paw rinds.
Awkaaba, Abruni brother.
Here, have sachet for slake thirst.
Here, have old beat for new life.
Snigger and pass--ghost taxi eyes.
Glancing out window at flash fried oware
Or whitewood djembe.
Go home with Medina gutters
And fable your "Afrikaba".
Now reach Abruni, please feed
Your exotic story character.
Alive for amusement's sake
Then fly home on white messiah wings,
But stay a minute--wash my gun?
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