Hot Compress Poem by Haruna Garba

Here lies it, a heap- destroyed
Here lies it, a heap- damaged
Here lies it, a heap- desolate
And here is a splendid surgeon
Ice bowl in his right hand
But they won't endure it
They would rather it remains sore as it was
Our sullen sons, the other sides of the coins

Here lies it, a pile- ravaged
Here lies it, a pile- razed
Here lies it, a pile- ruined
And here is a grand surgeon
With handy lukewarm water bowl
But they can't stand it
They would rather it remains as it was
Our sulky kin, the undersides of the rot

Here lies it, a stack- wrecked
Here lies it, havoc wreaked on her
Here lies it, a mound- ruined
And here is a principal engineer
With excavating and rebuilding tools
But they won't stand it
The perpetrators wouldn't stand it
And so are those that scavenge

Used to the sleaze- hopeless
They can't stand a cut on the vice
No matter how scanty, a player each is
They would rather it remains the same
Our dour decoys- each scrapping for a cut

If it were these breeds bred here,
Those breeds which I know so well
Forever and ever, they will not change:
Keen sharpers, chisellers, dubious-
Our breeds, the chickening out brands.

They will remain the same:
Grumblers, dismantlers, agitators-
Our breeds the squawking types.