|
THE GOLDEN TRIANGLE |
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A black fat cat sat |
|
In the seat beside us |
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Looking down on the
brown |
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Parched hectares of
his domain, |
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Botswana or Zimbabwe – |
|
From thirty thousand
feet |
|
The old imperial lines
were meaningless. |
|
|
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His skin was satin
matt |
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Like Green & Black’s
dark chocolate, |
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Enriched by a thousand
business lunches |
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And sleeked by monthly
massage |
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From Johannesburg’s
more expensive prostitutes. |
|
|
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Somewhere over the
Limpopo |
|
He was telling us that
he worked |
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In Development and
Outward Investment. |
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|
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On an earthen road
below |
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A man of the same
colour |
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And roughly half the
weight |
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Has cycled twelve
miles into the forest |
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For a day’s firewood. |
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Now he is pushing home |
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An enormous bundle of
fallen sticks and twigs. |
|
|
|
Somewhere over France |
|
Mr Development
proffered his card: |
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‘Mr Adzuki Adyubayo |
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70 Tower 700 |
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7000 Independence
Avenue |
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HARARE |
|
Financial Services’ |
|
|
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What a shame that on
his version |
|
Of the Golden Triangle |
|
Mr Adyubayo |
|
Has had to fly
Economy. |
