Lost In Traffic Poem by Tony Adah

Up Effio- Ette where there's
A huge traffic clog at a junction
There stood a self-appointed traffic man
It was Sunday evening
And the gridlock was much
We wondered why there was
A standstill of keke Napep,
Motorcycles, cars and trucks.

This man, the controller
Wore a Levi Strauss old jeans
Long battered by weather
The linen on his back flying in the wind
His brown dreadlocks burnished by dirt
And a wiry beard brushing his chest
His voice soft like surf came out
From the little mouth
The beard and the moustache had left

'The officer at work, ' he muttered
Swaying his right hand
His left hand was still
The traffic refused to move

Drivers watching the scene
Cars grumbling in twilight
Exhaust fumes spawning a haze
In harmony with the controller's cigarette
Suddenly a radiator bursted
A panic rumbled, pedestrians running
Drivers scampering cars abandoned
And everybody lost in transit.