Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 4

Déjà Vu

An old warrior lost his life
And his killer found a wife
Their little secret - it was kept
Though out the baby crept

The years flashed by rapidly
The warrior aged inevitably
But Adwoa, the warriors' woman
Her genes stayed young - unkind omen

First went her pleasant responses
Then came her repeat absences
He blamed it on that the child died
Other reasons, he feared, denied

He'd won a thousand battles
Acquired great wealth and chattels
But his power was on the wane
And the blood cooled in his vein

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Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 3

Murder

At night, with stealth, he crossed town bounds
Unseen by sentries, late lovers or hounds
When he reached the marked homestead
The time was still and eerie-dead

He could not see into the court
Nor could he starboard or port
But a fire was blazing high
Adwoa must be cooking nigh

Movement crossed his vision near
And he drew his trusted spear
And Adwoa took her big, broad fan
Thus unfolded love's cruel plan

Her fanning had a meaning 

That her husband was serening

In his corner lazy chair 

The spear struck, his head split like a pear

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Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 2

The Plot

She’d go to her old man at night

But he’d lost his warrior’s might

And would he take the father’s blame

When he could not light a flame?

The time, it was a-going

Her bump, it was a-showing

Women whispered under the trees

As she passed, through cough and sneeze

Oh, her name was Adwoa

Her old man called her Eno

But her response became sour

As he aged into a minnow

The young lovers turned to fear

Shame and execution nestled near

They had now to run away

Or the old cuckold to slay

Old Warriors and Pretty Young Wives - Pt 1

Just A Little Bit of Fun

An old warrior and his pretty young wife

Lived a quiet and peaceful life

With the spoils of war, and not a care

But a fire was raging in her

A great conqueror he'd once been

But his spirit was no longer keen

And her blood was hot and boiling

And her old man just a-toiling

So she made friends with a young man

A fierce warrior from a nearby clan

And they’d sneak away many nights

While the vet dreamt of his ancient fights

In no time, she had a fever

Her young champ had loved with fervour

And the oldie would soon come round

To her little growing mound

Can We Ever Like Our Cops?

Tell me - is there anything rarer in this land than a courteous traffic cop? (Not counting dollar transactions or the frequency of my blog posts). Recently, a cop 'arrested' my sister for jumping the "amber lights" at 10 pm. After apologies and a promise to be of good behaviour only made him angry, she resigned to going to the police station with him. Don't you think that should have pleased him? Well it didn't.

One hour later, he had failed to bully her to offer him a bribe of 400 Cedis. And he could no longer take her to the station because he couldn't explain why a 5-minute drive had taken an hour at traffic-less 10 pm. When passersby inched closer to smell what he was cooking up at the roadside at that time, he quickly crawled into a getaway hole.

The men in black

Are difficult to back.

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The Twelve Deaths of Chivalry

The door flies agape, and the boor slimes in. He flings it the other way, and nearly plasters the face of the woman in his wake. He plods to the queue, and snakes along to the head where a little kid stands. On the next turn, he swats the infant aside with his left hand. While making his order, his ‘megaphone’ bangs out of his pocket. In three minutes, he broadcasts his side affair to the whole world. Then, he makes his order. He foot-sweeps the tiles on his way out. He flops into the car before he remembers the woman he came with. She’s barely sat down, when he shoots the car forward, cutting across a moving car beside him. His music blares out in doltish decibels. His smirk shows he’s proved how important he is.

The Small Claims Man

That afternoon, he was uneasily installed behind a tiny, dark-wood desk. That morning, he’d chosen a chimera of a lime green shirt matched with a black necktie with dirty white stripes...or a white necktie with faded black stripes. If planned as a weapon to disorient me, then first blood to him. While he negotiated a small insurance claim with me, my eyes tried to negotiate a huge, yellow splotch out of his tie. Both negotiations failed. We agreed to come back another day. I then escaped from this semi-piebald-semi-skewbald circus.