Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!
Going Straight on the Right
The Good are ridiculed.
That's the way of the whirl.
She looked neither left
nor right, only straight
ahead.
Beside her trees laughed.
Bushes burned
profanely. So she prayed
her way through the periphery of terror,
the random report of guns,
smoke and fire,
drive-bys of fly-by-night
destiny.
A countryside laid waste
with Slim sickness.
Thin, ravaged
women howling on the edges, hot
threaded like needles
with exquisite pain.
Written by Angela Jackson
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