THREE POEMS
By Mwiche Chikungu
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The French Revolution of 2005
I watched the mélange on the telly
I felt the situation in my belly
I saw the Bronx I saw Hackney
I felt a policeman come to wack me
I smelt Soweto tires the burning of a revolution
I felt the urge the need for devolution
The need for leaders to move towards the people
To come out slowly from their ivory steeple
And realize they are problems within society
That are covered in racist piety.
This has caused young people to riot, incinerate cars,
And spend their days, in idleness, in clubs and in bars.
That same night I thought I was dreaming
I woke up shaking scared and screaming
I saw three ghosts sitting at the end of my bed
They looked all moldy, they had been long dead
They told me their names were liberty, equality and fraternity
They had died in 1950 and had come to restore sanity
To the France that has all these problems, of unity, of communion
That belonged more to the Euro and the European Union
Than it did to the people that have come from far away places
Who can change everything else they cannot change their faces………..
Somebody got my laundry instructions wrong
Somebody got my laundry instructions wrong
My suit came out all black.
It was my birthday,
I panicked
I tried a bit of bleach
It just went all funny
So I tried to take it back to the shop
To a lip-sticked Madonna
who sat
all divine at the almighty till.
She threw it at me,
threatened to call security,
So I decided to wear it everywhere
to every big and important do.
I kept on getting that look,
you know,
so I sat quite separate,
no one even passed me any sandwiches.
I usually left real early
I just couldn’t fit in.
One morning I decided I‘d have a word with the launderette,
to see if she might accept responsibility,
I found she had loads of really cheesed off customers,
She told me ‘pet, your suit was supposed to be handled with a lot of care and not immersed in so
much water, it was really suited to hot and dry conditions.’
I left the place not feeling any better and couldn’t believe my outfit had been brought in all
across the Atlantic,
that it didn’t take too kindly to this weather,
but I couldn’t take it back
she ‘d mentioned that she’d only accept,
Honest and genuine complaints, received in writing, within 24 hours.
Poem on Old Goats
Old Billy goat looking at me
Tell me what you can see
Old goats are best smoldering on my fire
Old goats are old they cannot sire
Old goats can admire from the corners of their eyes
And mark my words it comes as no surprise
That the older the goats the younger the girls
They are fit and nimble they can do the twirls
On the dance floor at hotels and bars
Driving the latest most fancy cars
They are always CEOS, leaders at the top
Don’t ever make the error of telling them to stop
Old goats get wiser as they grow old
They were even there when the war was cold
Old goats are old but their meat is still tender
They hold their beards, Gucci suits and their splendor.
Old goats know all about our culture
Old goats are monuments, they deserve an artists sculpture
Do not critique, do not despise
Just because he is a goat, he is still wise.
Mwiche Chikungu is a Malawian writer and poet.