Prose Header


by Shola Balogun

With an empty bowl
in his hand,

As he ran across the road
to pick a coin,

A naughty rifle put an end
to our blasphemy.

The poor beggar fell
by the roadside,
and the dead were left
to bury their dead.

Then at the bar,
just a stone’s throw
to the spot

We later learnt that the head
of Ifegali the beggar
was missing.

“Dat one no be news,
wetin we wan take im dead body do?”

We croaked in voiceless laughter
As the cup passed
from hand to hand.

Copyright © 2017 by Shola Balogun

Home Page