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Feb 2012
How do you want me
Roasted, grilled or stewed
With mustard, salt and pepper
to taste...
How do you want me?
Plain or with some dressing
May be drowned in sauce
May be downed with red wine
Just smack your lips
You are going to meat me there.

What wrong have I done this time?
Being a Squatter, Vagrant, Streetkid!
A beggar in the land of plenty
Yes, we have plenty misery
Suffering there...

The guns bark their chorus
And muffle the wail of the hungry and weak
As the law pins me against the wall...
Law the watchdog for the powerful
That chants its mumbo-jumbo
Against the poor...
I hear the loud voice of the gun
You are going to meat me there...

There, I am wanted
For tax evasion when I am not employed
For asking the meagre returns
Of my sweat and blood
For demanding back my poetry
They stole from the archives of my heart...
Yesterday I was arrested
For riding my master's mistress in a dream
Today I am dragged before a Judge of Law
For being found with maliciously true poetry
In my heart...
Tomorrow they will charge me
For singing a song
They will claim to have composed long ago
In their hearts...
I stand accused.

You turn me into a bull's eye
For your mahobhos
I am booted and teargassed
I have my back stuck to the wall
And the fingers curl on the triggers...
Too, too many fingers employed for the trigger
For sure they want to meat me

douglas chesa
Written by
douglas chesa  harare
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