In Transit
Some shout and some quiet as
We squeeze
in a taxi whose
Number we didn’t read and
Whose mechanical state
We can’t tell, trusting
The unknown driver who
Seems more
into his wasiwasi
Than his passengers and
A conductor who begged
Us to board and now barks
For the fare as if we were
To escape
through windows;
One-way, two-way, roundabout
Stage, stopover,
refuelling
Overtaking and being overtaken
Bumps, potholes, corners,
jam
Parking on driveways and
Driving on parkways
Traffic
stopping us for those
Who won’t stop for us
Past familiar faces and
places,
Unfamiliar places and faces
Signposts pointing us where
They have never been
Seeing so much to take with us,
So much we
can’t take with us
Trees running, even houses
Away in the opposite
direction
Some traveling miles for smiles and
Some hating the
journey they make
But heaven or hell, we’re all
Dying to get there.
Confession
Again yesterday evening
I grabbed a cheap one
off
A bunch in Kisenyi.
So tempting in her yellow
Sun-scorched
smooth
Cotton coat with
A black brown cap.
Pulled her closer and
Her perfume stirred the monkeys.
Ripe, innocent.
Could feel the
eyes of
The hungry woman by
Her full basket
But for hunger, I
Devoured her, all
Of her, leaving no
Sugar for pancakes.
Do
you also like
Bananas?
Konyi’s Harvest
When
he finally marched to Freedom Square
Eyes didn’t see him,
Ears didn’t
hear him,
Hands didn’t salute him,
Legs didn’t attend his swearing-in:
They all stayed back in
Gulu, Kitgum, Lira. Busy
Burying the
dead.
I worked with Henry on the Crossing Borders project, and he came on leaps and bounds as a poet.
