Cotton-Picking

Olidipo Agboluaje



I will come to you,
but when you say things
I don't like to hear...
Speaking in many
voices, one of them
Zarathustra's, is
that the one I should
heed? Your eyes blaze like
a flare, lighting up
the war-dark sky when
the drums are sounded,
Drake's, so-called hero.
Where is my musket?
Erect barricades.
Halt. Call mutiny
to order before
you abscond. I will
return to cotton-
picking days if you
want - I won't like it,
but I will. This suit
never wore well on
me. Take it, it's yours
And this blood... this blood
is definitely
not mine. Certainly
the transfusion was
for an illusion
like this one at now.
The farm was always
the better place when
the cotton was mine.


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