Crossing The Last Bridge Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Jump O jump down a camel's back
to a snaky train's wagon
bobbing on a waltzing viaduct kneeling
to the sky for a ride in a limousine.

Join the dance and fling your legs high
with a pushing lifting gust.

Between two hills standing
like giant blind men swelling muscles
of rock and earth-filled slabs,

let the chopper of a bouncing hurricane
drive you downhill to the face
of a cave that coughs you out

your feet to a slope swimming
in the sludge of a century-old dark brown lake.

(ii)

Slide down a giraffe's neck
to take a seat on life's saddle.
At a hammock's gate
the hippo waits with an unbooked
seat for a stormy crossing.

The punctured hammock says no,
its wheels not yet in gear
for a smooth ride on the latticed road.

The hippo waits with a first class
seat, a breeze to cross you over
to the bank, as you creep
with the itchy animal frequently
raising its head like a gecko dressed in yes.

Only the no of hammock
cuts short a giraffe's trip, the hippo
the beast that would have sunk you
in an enemy's bottomless gorge,

as an empty train hoots, its only
driver and passenger carrying a boulder
a storm in boots flipping out whipping hands.