An African Market Place Poem by ANTHONY ANIGBATA

AN AFRICAN MARKET PLACE

Like in a chaos
The darting souls plod
To and fro open stales
With gusto

Men and women
Of all sizes and shapes
In Brownian motion-like movement
Wonder and hustle
Under the scorching sun
Searching for what their weeny
Income can afford.

Dirty notes brought out from bras
Others, from inner parts
Some from wrapper ends
Bless the hands of noisy traders.

The buyers came out in bliss
Satisfied and relaxed
Carrying their bulky good homeward
While others unsatisfied, vex
Throwing curses at shop owners.

Roadsides packed and flowing
Like convoys of travelling bees
The air webbed by cacophonous sounds
As voices and highlife tones
Spread afresco.

Beautiful beads busy the eyes,
Crafts and fruits
Scattered on the sandy floor
Haddock hung on the drying-rack
Drag pedestrians to stand and price;

Friends meet friends, on the chicane,
Immersed in the bliss
Of meeting after "two-days"
Block the tiny road
As they stand, sharing sweet gossips.

Crook magicians
With their old fashioned tricks
Melt like loud spirits
Amusing the cheerful passersby
Touts shout out their souls
To people,
Who they wish would patronize
Their small buses
Heading to nearby villages and towns

Then at night
The witches spread their mats
Selling to mid-night buyers
Charms, meant to kill their fellow black brothers