David Craig  


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