POETRY

OUR WORST ENEMY

A dozen gun salutes rattled                                                       

My stomach, a war zone

Am I a confirmed carrier of ammunition?

Or ballistic missiles?

Unbearable and tortuous

Conference interrupted

Couldn’t you show some respect

To a respected public figure

At least before his audience?

Questions fell on deaf ears

Missiles reassembled, battalion on red alert

Like a professional athlete preparing for Olympics

I made for the other  office.

Tratatata,Yolatatatata,pram,pram, pram,proooooom!

In my groaning and whimpering,

I cursed the roadside food vendor

A premier suspect in my present predicament

The building about to come down, did I care?

Contents of my stomach emptied

Glad  that the intestines did not leave their duty post

Oh Diarrhoea! Oh Diarrhoea! Don’t ever visit me.