Thinking aloud, while sipping palmwine in England - Darko Antwi

Perhaps it's raining
in my hometown
And the roaming goats
must have sought shelter
under the barn of maize and dried cassava

Perhaps it's raining
And the old lady is keeping some firewood
safe for morning porridge
and lukewarm bathwater

Perhaps it's raining
And Papa ought to rise
from his reclined chair
and place a barrel under the pelvis of the roof
to contain the pleasurable thrust of the waterfall

Perhaps it's raining
And the village boys and girls
are having an athletic fair:
cartwheeling themselves across fields,
or molding clay into Rubus fruticosus,
or reshaping the plastic soil to form urban houses,
owned by distant relatives
who have become pregnant men at Santasi

If it does not rain tomorrow,
will those boys and girls
cross the boundaries of the village
and trot around the globe
in chase of wild goose,
and wear out their fiber and cerebral,
for nickels and dimes?

Perhaps it's raining. Perhaps it's raining...
raining in the place of my birth...
raining cats and dogs.

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