City of Stars (Hour 3)
The city stays beaming and breathing while others sleep
it lights up on weekends
the bubble spreads like a wildfire
alcohol exhumes wild personalities tucked in all week
loud pass hands
bodies seek warmth in others
the city is alive in a high mood
Saturdays are for owambe
there’s an aunty in yellow-
her face is beat fifty shades lighter
her gele stands tall
how else do you know she has arrived-
if her aso-oke doesn’t speak hundreds of thousands of naira?
that jewelry is definitely from Dubai
she orders for amala
there must be ogunfe and big fish
those bottles of minerals would find a home in her bag
Her daughter’s waist is snatched in a corset
this is the hundredth wedding she is attending as an asoebi girl
but who is keeping count?
Sundays are holy, sabbath should be kept
those wild bodies go back to God
with gloomy faces they sit through sermons-
prepared to tuck the wildness in work pants the next day
While dawn stretches each morning, the city sits wide awake
the scorching sun rises and sets on the backs of the working class
they sit packed in buses and cars
some shirts billow on bikes avoiding the traffic jam
the city plays a game of make or break
every sojourner desires to be another star
some give up this hope early
some do not but-
“eko oni baje”
the five days of the week drag
patiently like fanatics, they wait to unleash their beasts
faithful in this religion
