I was born on a December night in the year before
a new century
My mother told me I died six nights after
She said she had seen six demons lurking
in the backyard
That was six nights before I was born
African witches don’t fly on brooms
They go natural
If you sniff the wind
You can smell a witch
They don’t fly at night
They are like sand- everywhere
If you walk in the sun, they sting you like rays
No peace at night- they bite like mosquitoes
I resurrected on a December night in the year before
a new century
And I can say for sure…
No witch has a heart that’s pure
I remember their coven- hot like a danfo
Packed with demons schlepping and slow
An angel took me out of there
But not before one witch tore his robe
They laughed at his plump rear.
About the Author
David is a poet based in Lagos, Nigeria. He loves about writing about women, cities, and social issues. He has one published e-book: Lagos I- A Long Tale of the Lagoon City. Instagram: @theauthordave Twitter: @theauthordave Website: bit.ly/theauthordave
