Poetry: The Unpatriotic Citizen
By Majekodunmi Ebhohon
LOOK at him across the fence,
always whining about the cost of tomato
as if the president is supposed to leave
the air-conditioned villa,
fly to the market,
and discount the basket of peppers for him.
The man lacks manners.
Yesterday,
he stood by his dead generator
holding a yellow jerrycan like a trophy,
loudly asking why the national grid decided
to collapse for the fourth time in a week,
ignoring the beautiful new paint
on the state house gates.
He has no respect
for grand architecture.
He complains about
the potholes swallowing his tiny sedan,
yet refuses to admire the bulletproof convoy
sweeping through the dust at eighty miles an hour.
Trust me,
I told him to sit down,
fold his mouth
and show some gratitude for the free oxygen
we still breathe without a government tax,
because it is highly ungrateful to disturb
the peaceful sleep of a leader who worked
so incredibly hard to win the election.
