Barn-Red Ambulance Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(for fallen and surviving soldiers at war)

(i)

Sun spreads octopus tentacles,
stretches flamingo wings
lighting up clouds and half-clothed nights.

The red dented ambulance
is showered with broom whips
and dosed beads
and sprinkled chains of sun,

red dots and lipstick dust
and gusts of darted glances rising

with falling stiff arms curved out
in stalks and elastic vines

ofstrained tired muscles
andbranches of tall triceps
flipping out
from torn shirts.

Red drenched flowers
of crossed fingers
oozing garnets of parched blood,
melting out
from temples and tombs.

Spreading trim clouds over
hue-starved faces
bearing eyes throwing arrows

to impale mid-air hands
and brittle twigs of elbows tying
breath-saving knots.

(ii)

Spilled spiders of blood flash out,
burning and howling
in gusts of jerky spinning wind

and glowing amid scarlet-sleeved
woven and interwoven hands

stroking worn-out fibers and hairs
of untrimmed oversized singlets
and t-shirts waving
ribbon-tailed astrapia tails.

and leaves of torn green nylon
chopped up and quartered
for improvised dressing and labelling.

(iii)

Pressing foam and pads
and sheetsgrabbed
from wheeled boxes rolling
on rattling and clunking rails.

Streets clinker and clatter
with giraffe-men
and pets and bearded bodies of dust.

walking on hardened shadows.
On gravel
breaking under aged slabs.

Sidewalks have scooped
out alleys for red streams,
bereted fire finches
and red-cheeked wattle-eyes

taking off with three feathers
on wheeled claws
for trees grown from blood clots.

Smaller red birds tiptoe traces
of maroon and broken firebrick
behind hawkersdressed
in ruby vulture-tailed jackets

selling red handkerchiefs
and berry and mahogany scarves
to drummers in red head gear.

(iv)

Blood-stained shirts
hanging down waists
belted with blood,

stooping and hooting
over wooden lads

and parrot-eyed ladies
peeking, piercing
only numb air.

And pants beaming
with red stains.

Scarlet butterflies,
stains of blood lakes
and red creeping watersheds,
still flap wings.

This is the ambulance, the train,
the red omnibus,

the widow-bird tailed lorry
rolling on wheels
to be rocketed into motherland

amid flags of flames
from the volcano
of a mountain spirit.