Poem: Checkpoint by Femi Fatoba

Checkpoint

There is always something formal
Bout the barrel of a gun
With its one-eyed coldness
Which dares you to talk
As your friendly policeman
Prays you question his rudeness.

When your protector-soldier
Rearranges your dentition and
Overfills your mouth with your tongue
There is always something mutely formal
About the butt of a gun.

There is always something formal
About the barrel of a gun
When its long steel finger of caution
Advises you to tip the officer
Who supervises death on the roads.

There is always something formal
About the barrel of a gun
When, with hot-leaded snout it coughs
In admonition of your daring
To argue with a policeman.
There is always something final
About the trigger of a gun.

— Femi Fatoba

Image Credit: Ayanfe Olarinde on Unsplash.

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