I live under a Chinese-made bridge in the city
Unconcerned about the cracks of life in its walls
Many years ago, before the crackdown of mushroom
Houses, in city places like Sodom and Gomorrah where
I used to live; my body would have rested on pure
Rubbish-like mats woven by Hausa women
In my new little ghetto, the road is always playing
Music as the speed of the cars raps a tsweee
And tshiooo sounds that mix together to form a song
In my past life, I should have been dancing adowa
To the beats, with friends like Zig and Zag, whom since
The demolishing, we have yet to meet
Only yesterday, a heavy-duty truck loaded with huge timbers,
I guess from the forest of the north disrupted my dance
When the driver went high on the amplifiers of the break
And killed a pregnant woman making way to the zebra crossing
I was the only witness who rushed to the scene when the
Incident happened in the early hours of the morning while
The driver sped on and some men in uniform arrived at the
Scene only to handcuff me without asking any question
Today, today, see me, whoever is reading this poem, as I
Am lying in this smelly closet with this guard in a faded brown
Uniform who tells me every now and then to prepare for my death
