Hold your breath, it’s Friday!

From the North, East and West they all meet up here
And I have no options to make this sign
In the name of the father, Son and the Holy Spirit
Saucy lines strictly seasoned for hungry insatiable eyes
I accept my fate reluctantly, poor soul but they are here

Freshly baked brown bare thighs exhibited invitingly
Chocolate and light skins served chilled but with pepper
And this is Kampala, on this Friday, just hold your breath
Weapons of Mass destruction paraded on hefty chests
Smeared with scented oils suspended in visible bright colour bras

I hear them whispering faint nothings littering this city with their beauty
Hot painted lips on ever glowing pretty faces
Hold your breath brother, if you have any left!
For we can run but we can’t escape, this is Kampala on Friday
Saturday they all migrate to the lake scores of Entebbe
Parading leisurely their derriere ever bikini clad
But we still meet with them for our Sunday services
At Calvary, Watoto, All Saints etc. with hands raised to the Almighty God

And I humbly watch, perhaps lazily, perhaps keenly, God have mercy
Perfect curves in ever tight pieces of clothes, nails vanished, legs waxed
Hair held back in all variety of styles, God invented Hair!
All kinds of heavenly perfumes from the most expensive brands
High heels, shining, bright and neatly designed, they really hate gravity
Contours past the River Nile, artist’s hand find it to paint
Any one would think there is a scarcity of underwear in Kampala
But we love it still, the bliss, the warmth, and the glamour of Kampala
So my good brother, Hold your breath this is Friday

©Ronald K Ssekajja 2014