Butterflies And Pecking Cocks Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

In the moon-lit
yard under
the tall mango tree's
umbrella
of spread green arms,

buzzing leaves
whistle in the wind
after a breeze.

A shower of light
flowing from
bright-eyed bulbs

perched on twigs
and branches
swinging above

spray a daylight-
at-night glow
tossing and sprinkling
beams at every face.

(ii)

As the swelling
party's engine
is ignited to thump

with voices
of jerky laughs
and clinking glasses

raised to hug
each other
in the plasma air
of rippled smiles

flowing out
with butterfly wings
from every
plastic temple

and latex cheek
drawn out
and shrunk
with an accordion's hue
and wiggles,

the party takes off
with a condor's wings,

men and women
kicking and spinning
air with stork legs.

(iii)

Hopping on a swamp
of leafy silver
and cream light

lifting them
to the highest
ceilings of stars

stretching far out
to the nebula
of hollow faces
digging deep gems
out of life

in the floating wings
of baggy pants,
stretchy shirt sleeves

flying with albatross
and whooper
swan wings, every eye

raising a flag
of see-me-too sailing
in a sea of colors,

every wave
flipping out butterflies
and moths of grins

until the party
begins to quack,
frog-backed faces

hardly raising
their webbed feet,

until two cocks
of hefty men
drunk with piercing light

and shots of drink
peck at each other
and crow the party out

with exploding
thunderous laughs
clocking everybody out

before a rainstorm
pours and splashes
its sludge on glittering faces.