I’m a bushman (All for Penis -excerpts)

Sussie
Whether you wear goat hair
Or in a plastic cup
You gather your breasts,
Or you gum baboon’s hair
Under and on top,
Whether you pack foams
Cushion-foams
And glue them to your buttocks,
Or fix pestles to your soles
And ascend further with six nails,
It is all for penis
No matter how tall
No matter how short
No matter how low
No matter how high
Penis will bring you down on your back!


A straight jab will send you to the mat
An upper-cut will retire you into a coma
And the testicle bell must jingle and jangle
To wake you and dress up.
You say you are tired?
No. When you rear your nails
Like that of snake, or paint your lips
Like that of our family witch
Or you bounce your breasts
Of the floor of your chest
Like that of my dog,
You have forgotten the wrath of penis.
Yet you have no body to carry him
You are a bone, you just break.
Why do you break, woman?
Because your body is thin
Because your body is dry
Like a roasted snake,
Your belly is flat
It carries only worms
Delivered by your corn-beef and sardines.
Why do you think you die
Cityman, why do you think you die like chicken?
Your worms and snakes hiss, spit inside you
Worms and reptiles swim, dive in your blood
And your blood begins to rise higher higher
Like the foam of pure palm-wine
You collapse, like a rotten pawpaw, on ground
And oh, you decay, a manure
Cityman decays!
Or when you want to piss or shit
You go into your shit-room
And sit like a king on shit-pot;
The maggots attack your buttocks
Wriggle into your anus
The spirits of shit
Enter your nose, your mouth
Your ears, your eyes, your everywhere
Your nose begins to flow like river
Begins to fall like rain
Your mouth opens, a waterfall
Your ears spurt, a spring of pus
Steaming hot thick and green
Your eyes shed fat-fat tears
Your belly grumbles and rumbles
And your anus shoots out water
Like a water tap that is worn out
You become a broken calabash
Leaking from mouth
Leaking from bottom
Every hole in your body
You’re dead
You flow to hell
You flow to hell, the house of junks!
Doctor says you get cholera
But I,
Bushman
Son of The Dark
Say, you catch death
Hot-noon death.
Doctor puts salt in water
And pumps it into your body,
What has happened to goat?
Doctor takes a solid iron
Because your bottom-pipe is burst
He pushes it down down
Hammers it in in
We wear clothes
To cover buttocks
Cityman wears iron
To block his broken bottom.

©Dokun Oni, 1985 “This short poem is written for one reason. It is to free poetry from the imprisonment of academics. It is to show you that poetry could be simple, after all, be understood easily and be enjoyed like a dish of ear-soft pounded yam. So, all you need to do is to read this book aloud to yourself and your colleagues or you ask a good reader to read to your hearing.”

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