Nigerian Nostalgia

Wait,
Where is the hurtling furniture
trailing menacingly after
impassioned speech
plunging a national gallery of masses
into fits of delicious mirth.
We miss it.

Wait,
Where are the savvy assemblymen
who quick as lightning’s silver flash
purloin delicate stately mace
plunging a national gallery of masses
into fits of delicious mirth.
We miss them.

Wait,
Where are the men – able-bodied, solid
who dish slaps steaming hot putting
privileged kitcheners in their lowly fiery places
plunging a national gallery of masses
into fits of righteous indignation.
We miss them.

Wait,
Where are the men – swathed in Agbada’s ample folds
who indulge in manly feasts of fists
trading punches as Bashir beads in a busy bazaar
plunging a national gallery of masses
into fits of delirious mirth.
We miss them.

Where’s our circus of parroting freaks?
Where’s our honourable Patrick
our dear bespectacled partridge
weaving through Latin, gobbledygook, easy,
a ringmaster leaping through hoops of fire.

Wait,
We miss them.
We’ll applaud with our laughter
Again.

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