Friday, December 11, 2015

The Devil's Footman by Cosmas Chivandire

Image (c) :

Harangued by voiceless
apparitions from numerous 
encounters with his own limits 
as a man, the comrade ruminates,
considers his life.
In the days when tuxedos were all the rage
he could use a bowtie to suppress
the truth inside his epiglottis, a
Russian here-a Belgian there.
He still remembers 
that time when he would speak
or conjure, how his men danced 
as women wept while 
he, cool as a bassist
could raise a battalion with a finger,
a village with a thumb.
Today he collects
mostly smoked cigarette 
butts on Barrow Street 
for attempting to distort 
not only the truth 
in this world, but that 
which lives within the fields
of our imagination.