The Palm-Wine Poet
I. Oriki for the Road
You left with palm-wine on your breath,
and the road answered back —
red earth, red mouth,
ancestors humming in the white tela.
II. When Baba Drank
Baba said the gods are not heavy;
we are heavy with forgetting.
He poured for Ogun, for shop rent,
for the son who never called.
The second calabash was for himself.
III. Eko, 5 a.m.
Bread sellers balance dawn on their heads.
Danfos cough awake.
Somewhere, a boy practices talking drums
against a landlord's wall.
He will be late for school and early for music.
IV. Love Letter with Kolanut Breaking
If I bring kola, will you split it with me?
Not the bitter half. The half that remembers
how your mother's wrapper smelled after rain.
We do not run from folklore — we remix it.
Collection Note: These verses were written between Bodija and Peckham, between memory and WhatsApp voice notes from home. They ask: what does it mean to be Yoruba in a world that wants you streamlined?
Poetry