In the Pink Wash of British Accra

He was born
in the imperial pink wash
of British Accra
Sharp-edged streets
where Daavi's endeavor
hawking corned beef stew
crowned him first boy ever
with new school shoes
envious mothers
identified him as other
tribal difference
robbed him of friends
boys gave chase
for that is their way
to test the mettle
he learnt to wrestle
fought foes away
with still time to play
on the famous Bruce Road
that birthed a nation's future
see the grounds
over here
a tribal gathering of shorts
talls, mediums,
muscle, sweat, tears,
laughter: manly vibes
too soon early evening grows late
with the backhand and whip
a predictable fate

In the Pink Wash of British Accra

he runs with shoulders back
ambitious head and wheeling legs
arms pumping, heart thumping
over straight, curb and bend
from Christianborg castle
a bright future at the end
and the lighthouse, oh Accra lighthouse!
His all-time friend