Monthly Archives: November 2015

STUNTED GROWTH AND AMERI-CARNAL STUNTS: A One Page Review of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah.

Source: STUNTED GROWTH AND AMERI-CARNAL STUNTS: A One Page Review of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Americanah.

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THEIR TEARS ARE WATCHING GOD

THEIR TEARS ARE WATCHING GOD

  • For the Chibok Girls

Their tears were watching God

from the base of the nose

the bit that the hangwoman left for air

and for her own  masochistic juice

chef of  the red sauce

she was one of them, you know, the  hangwoman

 

Their tears are watching God

from their new abodes,

far separated  from the ghostly socked long drained of fluid

the skin of their eyes thrust past the blindfold

when they were first taken –

but their takers have now settled down

to the comfort of stolen  breasts

and to gunpowder

the mildest of their intoxicants

having since obtained the consent of the raped

(and that includes diplomats too busy with  hardcover girlie mags)

 

It’s a jackalian task, this

haggling over minds

without a single growl

now everything is adulterated

the coquettish hands

the puerile penises touted pious

which their hangers-on use as question marks –

the gentlest form of their marriage proposals –

(reminding Satan he has a  catching up to do),

the woman’s consenting smile

the gory postings on facebook

the ambassadors’ feeble protests

everything

everything is adulterated…

 

But now that they have bought

the wholesale patent to the mind of the preyed on

the hangwoman is flaunting her taunting prowess:

why don’t you admit you like it here, enh?

why don’t you admit you’re loving it?

that what they did to you last night was, you-know-whore-I-mean?

Why don’t you renounce your hopes

of a one-minute-silence at the next meeting

of the united – or other  –  nations?

why don’t you admit we’ve all failed

when we should be on all fours

we’re still hanging onto travesties of two….?

Enjoy your brunch of mashed brain

while I wield my working blades

 

Their tears are still watching God

for telltales

of grave spades

to bury any doubts

that it wasn’t he

that created both these species

and they themselves,

the residues,

on whom the hangwomen now practise their dying .