A Welshman in West Africa


In a living sense It’s so difficult to rest in peace In this place of death by insect To savour a sleep as deep as a debt Or even forget for an instant The crawling poverty The creeping wealth The pathetic suggestion of system


At home We may be crippled by the stick of progress But least we’re blessed with some limp ability To deny or denounce This enforcement


Here In the hereafter Long after I’ve departed This incredible sense of same Will bite and blame another trying teacher Into tossing coins on corners To patients left out of the speeding scheme of things


Stuck in their dusty days They will never pave a way Other than to meet The next coming act of charity That gives them the clarity of hope For another few moments


14


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