Making Modern Love
We are not like provincial lovers
Who wait to stalk funerals
That bring opportunities of replacing the departed,
Under the watch of the night, in verdant shambas
Armed with cash
We’ll open our hearts
On a plate of chips, with a soft drink
Things to nibble and sip, but not too large to distract
Maybe chaps? Muchomo and beer later?
Chips chicken will soften us for now,
And for future food that you commonly acknowledge is delicious.
If you should stare in pockets so deep
That the residential wallet is unseen by short fingers
Soon enough other networks become sexy,
Offering side dishes and desserts
For we’ll soon meet other friends with longer arms
It is constantly recommended by wily winners
That going dancing eases misgivings
In tender bones,
Unlikely to be tempered by the softness of night lights.
But if all is careening towards a cold spell
Drinks should be laid out till we are released from thinking.
We saw a secondary virgin sobbing at a table for two
Weighed down by the meanings of disease.
We saw a man who had become a man
For he knew now, how close he was to the deceased
And vaguely inundated with curses of,” Shit happens.”
Stumbled away with thoughts that grew from booze
And the dregs of making modern love.
So while good things begin to afflict us now
And beautiful things course through dull heads,
Causing wings of desire to grow like mushrooms in a mist
At last. We shall soon make modern love.
This poem won first prize in the Beverley Nambozo Poetry Award 2010.