Ghetto Friday- by Ephraim P. Kenyanito
T’was on a Friday,
I’ll recall that Mayday.
Walking down the street,
Young men; jolly I meet.
I ask em’, “where you up to?”
They say, “don’t you know?”
I ask, “what?”
They answer, “It is a Ghetto Friday!”
It then hits me as never before!
How had I fogortten?!
It was aday to be happy,
Welcoming the weekend.
Singing round the shanties we called home.
Drinking the obvious;
Indigenous African brew!
Not caring anymore,
Of the raw sewerage;
Flowing through the slums.
The stinking smell,
A waste from the rich!
We only use flying toilets,
Or go into the bushes;
How then does sewages occur in our ghetto?
Ghetto life so sweet,
How is it that we are always so happy?!!
