The Drunkard By Gonsalves Mpili

He’s  perfumed with alcohol,

Very filthy like the slums latrines,

Talks fact, but his brain drunk,

His words are black and white like the skunk,

The bull he shoots hits the slum dunk,

They call him the junk.

Words of drunkard are slender,

Like spaghetti in hot water pan,

Other eat to get fat,

I call him the tarantula,

Poisonous to impact optimistically,

Words of him shall be retrieved,

To divorce doubts in,

Minds of coward, senseless and of mindless.

Rum makes brain think,

That of drunkard is obliged,

To produce electric shocked words,

That blackout erupt in city,

His words to listen,

His words a bag with no zip,

Always on movement like economic cycle,

Boom, crisis, depression and recovery,

His words a will,

The drunkard eloquent,

He kicked the bucket,

Obituary expressed in newspaper.