“And there are here
the errors of the rendering…”—Christopher Okigbo
Sundays are perfect but for these:
A gypsy preacher who walks alone,
talking to himself and his beards
which bears a burden too many.
Reading a verse, he denies Noah’s ark,
denies Solomon’s wives and wisdom,
and Jesus’ tears too…
An old man who staggers into a pub,
lights two cigars at once and talks back
at the radio, chronicling sins of policemen
whose bullets are too callous and choosy.
He stands after the ninth bottle, leaving
a pile of debt and an odour hanging in the air,
awaiting his return.