Boy King Of Turkeys Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

The sun has fallen
with fast
cream-silver lance-
edged brooms,

its rays sweeping
across a tawny earth
floor, a floating,
flowing yard carrying

powder and pearl
splashes of light
growing cotton and glassy

to make birds see
through clouds
of kitchen scraps and grains
in plastic bags.

But there's little
amid littered piles
and mounds
of dry stale tomatoes

and tall shivering tufts
of growing grass
the turkeys can eat.

(ii)

A little boy flying
his colorful outfit,
rosy baggy pants

under a hanging peacock-
tailed shirt,
squeals out to his friends

he'll be king
of all the turkeys
in the yard,
as he dives into a cottage.

He bounces back
to the yard, carrying
a cream-silver
transparent polythene bag

with lettuce leftovers
from a heavy
Christmas meal of legumes
sticking out thick lumps
and tiny speckles of stew.

Grains of sweet corn
drip down the torn bag,
as the boy runs around,

the birds following
closely in files and crowds,
also pecking at cooked
leftovers of greasy pinto

and navy beans
and thick lumps of rice
coated with meaty gravy.

(iii)

But too slow to deliver
the juiciest grains
of corn swinging in the bag
like golden gems,

the boy is attacked
by two turkeys
in thick shanks sticking out
like boots with sharp spurs,

leaving him a bleeding
shepherd
dressed in trickles
and creeping streams of blood.

He shrieks out
to his play mates he's dressed
in Christ's crimson,
the best outfit on a Christmas day.