Treat Your Hair Like a Football Field

An old man at the barber's shop took one look at me and said, “Son, treat your hair like a football field – optimal level all the time – and not like a sheep’s wanton wool – it grows, you shear it off. That’s the way of a well-groomed man.”

Over-scented Peacocks

Fifty thousand eligible young men exhibited in the City gallery of Accra, hanging around all day, just lounging. We see just their high-decibel clothes, billboard shoes and tonnes of blinding jewellery. Oh, and the wealth (?) they 'madvertise' with oceans of designer fragrance. Did I say “eligible”? Eligible for jail, then.

The Hen & the Housewife

All in a Picture

Sorry, I do not know who drew this, but if anybody knows them, I am happy to give credit.

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 3 – No Ordinary Chicken

The chick would wander from the yard
Past the sleeping Alsatian guard
And out there on the scheming street
It learned and studied how to cheat

And when came Christmas time
The chick was in his prime
When the housewife came calling
The now-cock felt up to a brawling

She walked past many a chicken
Until she found her chosen
She brought her big knife out
But it stood up proud and stout

The cock, he pulled a gun
And held her up for fun
There was no chicken soup that year
Instead, her husband killed a deer.

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 2 – Adolescent Chicken

And as the days went by
Father cock, he did try
But the chicks died one ... another
He just couldn’t play mother

And then was left one chick
It survived through thin and thick
Cat, clime, car and crow
Could not deal it death’s blow

It played among the dogs
And preyed upon the frogs
Ate meat instead of grain
It grew again and again

The housewife looked on keenly
And sharpened her knife routinely
She could not wait for Christmas
Chicken soup would be bliss

The Hen & the Housewife

Part 1 - The Day Mother Went

It was before first light
When the chickens awoke in fright
They saw with quivering claw
The housewife at the door

She seized the mother hen
(I think its name was Gwen)
One wife took another wife
In her other hand she held a knife

She dragged her prisoner out
Whose cries were loud and stout
Its wings and legs she bound
And laid it on the ground

It was over in a wink
Between each tear and blink
The father cock, he cried
Must she come each Yuletide?

Poetry Series - The Hen and the Housewife

This week, we will attempt another poetry series. I am not too sure whether it teaches a lesson, but I hope you will still enjoy it.