For the day Third Mainland needs
To shrink into a carter-sized bridge.
You borrow Èsù’s skill set
Because Oworonsoki won’t spit you out.
“I’m almost there,” you say. And pray
Obalende’s mud pools are now still
And cleared of sluggish wheels.
For that time you were at Aswani
And fifteen minutes from home
Became an hour with the driver,
Chatting about his pregnant teenage girl, or
Him monologuing while you petition Ajé
Who permitted her children to dance
Without restraints on Tuesdays.
For when you beat the lights and
Tetracyclin-clad paparazzi jump in
Front of your car, clicking and chanting,
“Mr man, stop this car.”
Do not plea nor settle. Sit still
With engines running, eyes stern, windows up.
A Lagosian never shows weakness.
Featured image via Flickr by Dolapo Falola