It’s no belts in the backseat,
The sun shining and bare feet.
Some people say that Africa has a rhythm
But the reality of Africa is a flavour;
Tastes something like wet dirt, sunscreen,
And the sweat from manual labour.
Africa can rob a swarm of bees of their honey
And with sticky hands unscathed
Those same fingers snatch a beggar’s money.
It’s that empty-belly-ache-dying-for-a-little-taste,
Ballooning children, going to waste –
Egg yolk yellow leaking into
orange spilling over
to kiss the watery cheek of Lake Kariba:
…………..Some say corruption is a two-way street –
Have you ever tried to love a place synonymous with deceit?
Copyright © February 2017, Lyndsey England