It Is January Poem by Tony Adah

The journey is over land and over water
From the north to the south
It is tortuous
And we crawled like a tortoise
Dip right into pot holes
Now holding dust
And the frogs have gone
Croaking having taken the water with them.
The dust rose up like a volcano
And the car hummed and giggled
There are earth dumpers, caterpillars, graders
Beside the road
In a silent conversation with commuters
And some men cross gathered
In uniforms of some sorts
Begging and harassing the commuters
The journey doesn't end
If it does, there's return journey
And the processes repeat themselves
Same people, same road and same country
It is January
No one is touching the machines
Till June when the rain comes
With another excuse
Where the potholes have persisted
Become the dust bowls
Where it rises like today
O' my country.