They heaved me up in a dank cell
They tortured me, squeezed my eyes
Oh God it was hell
My only crime being drank and disorderly
Along Koinange Street
Where a quiet bargain was on next to a black merc.
Early next morning they kicked my butt
Out of the station way before breakfast was served
After all I didn't even pay for the bedbug bed
Why did I expect some even half cup naked uji?
I was warned to remain in the part of the city
Where cheap prostitutes like me can have a say.
Later on Sipping some keg in a hovel down Luthuli
I pitied those who rave in the real city
Where prostitution is no crime
Where walking half naked isn't immorral
Where drinking a whole barrel of imported red wine
With your thirteenth mpango wa kando
Is more than okay, very gentlemanly indeed.
I felt for the dear sons and daughters of uptown
Where watching a nude your-mothers-age-mate on-line
Whatever that means!
Where getting a pizza courtesy of your old-man's-pall
For a jig after the company dinner
Is dimmed cool, no policeman would dare interupt.
At least down here
There are cops and straight-from -village folks
To be wary of.
Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
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