At
the lorry park in Monrovia
twanging dialects
wares from overseas
congregations of travelers
milling around cars and trucks
waiting for the commencement
of a journey.
At the border
khaki-clad officials
record details
of presented documents
then bid you adieu.
On the road
that geographic nightmare,
flat terrain of potholes
desiccated by rivulets.
The devilish stuntman
of a driver,
executing, feats of
dexterous bravado
while we passengers wince
and shudder,
and our cramped knees,
shocked buttocks,
in unison scream--
'What the hell -is wrong
with the road to Kenema?' |