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Thursday, 25 April 2013

The trotro stories #1

The trotro front seat hugger  
Sir in long sleeves acting all so refined  

Not to be mistaken as thus often the case 
For a chauffeur driven car, to one's sir 

As pleased; bought a car much of late, recent 
For that, it matters, to the point being made 

Personally with preference 
A taste acquired from childhood reminiscent  

I rather the back seat and its comfort set 
Three in a lane, oh how times have changed 

From the big mama that squeezed me 
To the near brink of extinction  

Armpit odor and the art of arms stretched 
To the driver's mate, for bus fairs paid 

He half pretends to half forget I gave him this much 
Hugging my balance change on tricks of tactics 

The battles fought at Nkrumah circle 
Legendary at peak times, off peak no bother 

Gentility gets pushed out of the way 
Essence is on the strength of gladiatorial  reign 

But he always looks so refined, Sir, our Sir 
Sitting at the front of the trotro hugging looks


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