The Voter Poem by Mbusya Wa Mbusya

Stands down the rostrum,
In a rainy day,
Bewildered by the exotic suit
Of this superb mortal swear civil vulgarity to unsuspecting citizens.
The voter…
The stomach aches;
Of hunger and vermin, perhaps,
The back pains;
Of the weight: epitome of everyday
In stone quarry and sand tunnels,
Eye squints, of sleep or just
Wanting to get a good glance
Of the speaker,
How much worthy he is…
..Suddenly a ululation;
A public rewarding scheme,
Scrabbling for bank notes,
Stampede; the innocent and the guilty alike, and finding his wallet,
Filled by worthless news paper cuttings for rolling cigarettes,
Thumbing heartily spilling raw tobacco to show the elector's card,
Then leaves for liquor den,
To amaze his ego!