Collected Poems

the celebration is make-believe;

the clamorous change of season

will darken the hills of Nsukka

for an hour or two when it comes;

no hurricane will hit my sky—

and no song of deliverance.

Bull and Egret

At seventy miles an hour

one morning down the seesaw

road to Nsukka I came

upon a mighty bull

in form and carriage

so unlike Fulani cattle—

gaunt, high-horned, triangular

faced—that come in herded

multitudes from dusty savannas

to the north…. Heavy

was he, solitary dark

and taciturn, one of a tribe

they say fate has chosen

for slow extinction. At his heels

paced his egret, intent

praise-singer, pure white

all neck, walking high

stilts and yet no higher

than his master's leg joint….

Odd covetousness indeed would

leave its boundless green estates

for a spell of petty trespassing

on perilous asphalt laid for me…. My