by John Mhongovoyo
No, yours has grown too perfect.
We’ll have to break it here and there,
Rape it in some places,
Otherwise they won’t hear us
On our temporary tongues.
We don’t want to talk to ourselves now,
Elders say it came on fiery canoes
From over there
(Perhaps together with the Bible and guns)
No ruling out
some of it falling into the sea.
How I hate leftovers?
The more you understand it
The more you know deprivation.
Ever since pre-eighties struggles
We been falling
All we trying to say is,
Somebody take those damn things
And give us back our wealth.
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John Mhongovoyo was born and raised in Zimbabwe. He has published short stories and poems in the journals Moto, Parade, Mahube and The Thinker. He currently lives and works in Maun, Botswana.