The Jetty's Passing On Poem by Tony Adah

The old jetty stood idle
Staring at the sea
Its weathered concrete floor
Blooming in a garden of mosses
Stones dotted here and there
Shone like stars in the sky.
A crane sat down on its floor
Bent with age
Waiting in vain for the wares
Which used to come in and out of it.

It is a long wait, the ships may
Not come again
Still slavery, a constant source of
Human ware is dead
Now a wind vane is a companion
To the gray and rusty crane
It turns three sixty degrees
The ware no where to be found
There now the jetty is called
A resort in Marina.

Cane chairs now take the place
Of palm produce, cocoa, rubber and
The things Europe sent to us,
We used to hear of PZ, UAC,
Elder Dempster, all multinationals
They are gone, their houses derelict
And the produce they bought no where
To be found.
Some youths now in weird wears
Sit on this jetty in front of them
Green, brown, blue and red bottles
They wear headsets and mime
Music from their cellphones
Drinking and eating gizards, chicken
And pepper soups, a burial ceremony
For the jetty's passing on.