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From the babylonic heights
of a Lagos high rise hotel
with balconies overlooking dawn
(a silver canvas on the Atlantic),
my eyes threaded the horizon
to a fisherman in the distance
silent and erect in his dug-out
as he prepares to cast his net
before the arrival of trawlers,
patient and stoic, like death
waiting for the appropriate tide
to come ashore with the ultimate gift
for the hotel’s resident five-star guests
(chameleons with wardrobes for all occasions)
whose coded lives are made purer and safer
by the equivocation of every official probe.
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