By Akeem Lasisi
I found my man at the nick of fate
When awaiting days began to tick in haste
Tilting spinsterhood’s pendulum to nervous realms.
When Pastor Chris rang the bell for Searching Souls,
Swift as a swift,
I was the first candidate at the singles’ camp.
Every Sabbath morn
Draped in velvet,
Preened like a roach
I headed for the miracle temple
Hoping for a cork for my fermented wine,
A godly cock for my lingering hen.
Strategic seat
Strategic applause
Strategic smile on my powdered face.
Waiting for a hubby, a game of fate:
Samuel Becket mocked me
When I waited for Godot on the outskilts of youth,
Lingered,
Lingered and fasted for a loyal pigeon
In the cocky market of Adam’s creed.
Waiting for a hubby, a game of fate.
Isaiah’s prophecy stares the waiter in the face
When each passing moon,
Age encroaches in haste on daughter of hope
Menopause prances, prancing menopause
With the rabid fury of Koroma’s dogs.
Eyes winked, tongues wagged
When I waited and waited upon my fate
For the right crown for my lonely head.
“Akiriboto!”
They said I was the accursed nut without a lobe.
“Herbalists are tired,
Imams are piqued.”
“She’s the oldest face
At the singles’ camp.”
“A special project
For specialist docs!”
Eyes had winked, wagged had tongues
But delay is not a denial for a daughter of fate
After a long season of their callous jeering,
A right crown for my lonely head.
Now the river is crossed.
The river is crossed:
Let the eagle carry the tale from earth to Pluto
Earth to Pluto and back to earth
The river is crossed,
The Nile is crossed:
Diving dolphin,
Bear the glad tiding to the Limpopo’s bed
The river is crossed,
The Niger is crossed.
Tornado to Tunis
And hurricane to Hague
The bridge is crossed, the Lena is crossed.
Let the cyclone courier the tale from Saudi to the heart of Rome,
That the goddess of spinsters is down in tears:
Has lost a darling queen to the amazons’ club.
- From NIGHT OF MY FLIGHT: The Poetry of a Lady about to Wed, by Akeem Lasisi
