(cover photograph direction: Ene Ochayi)
— for the waif child.
I see you poor puppy the way you sniff the dump
the pile of abandoned used-to-be treasures
seeking for something beautiful enough to call food
you stumble on a three-week-old moi-moi* now
inhabited by fungi & your canines get to work
Your ribs parting like scratches made by the
mother hen poor creature of God’s own hands
poor me your search for survival has stolen your
glee & all I can wrap for you is nothing nothing
but a broken poem
*moi-moi: a kind of staple food in Nigeria made from beans.