Bobo-Tunde was fished out of the lagoon yester-night
And Mama-Tunde wept and wept and wept
Here, she pointed, why did he not use this? At least the fishes would have spared his body
But Baba-Tunde was also staring at the looped rope, hanging un-used from the ceiling fan hook
And wondering why Bobo-Tunde opted instead for the lagoon death-dive.
Not only they: every other hands-on-the-head-in-disbelief wondered why Bobo-Tunde did it
And why he chose the lagoon flight path
Only Sista-Tunde, already reduced to tributaries of salt-water,
had the answer
In the black box, his brother’s suicide note
Tell, us, tell us, they ask her, tell us why he did it:
why this promising young man blew out the flames of his own sun before his day could call itself dawn.
Sista-Tunde harvested remnant words from her tongue
like grandma from her herder-ravaged farm
then cleared her throat:
It is not the cost of application forms
for government jobs already given out to the favoured…
O it is the plot, then..
What plot?
The plot that kills faster than suicide:
the plot of the graph of the rise in the price of garri?
No, not the plot!
What is it then? the mourners demanded
Bobo-Tunde is not asking for heaven on earth
His note says simply
Free#LeahSHARIBU
HAVE A HAPPY WORLD POETRY DAY
(If you can!)
aihuomaimminentriver 