Can We Talk Mr. President?

Author: Farook Abdul-karim Sesay, a Sierra Leonean Ppoet, Writer, Legal advisor and Political commentator

I picked up the phone. The phone paid for by public opinion/ I dialled. It rang. It rang. And, rang. One hundred times. One million/

A queue was building up. Snaking past the derelict mud hut. Waiting. Watching. Desperate/ the sweltering heat licking their dark parched skins. Expressions irate/

“Mr. President. That’s your number! Right?” Each cranium down the human chain muttered. In desperation. With despair/ the phone rang. Deceptively submissive. Yet with a silky, mocking jeer/

A missile hurtled towards the phone booth. Yet the plexi glass remained unhurt/ sneering. Leering. winking at the frustrated abort/

“Mr. President. I know you’re there. Ensconced in your bloated palace”. The long sun drenched human chainless chain muttered/ as the phone of public opinion stared defiantly with bemused glare. Tracing on the plexi glass feelings left splattered/

Another missile came hurtling. Not from the despondent human chain/ but a weaponized automated voice. Like a sky writing stunt from a kamikaze plane/

“Mr. President. We know. We’re not slow. You’re by your phone. Drinking champagne/laughing. With cohorts. Waiting for the next calender date. To start your campaign”/

Automated voice. Cold. Disconnected. Dangling on a cord. invisible/ “please leave a message”. The voice sounded jarred. Even irascible. Lounging in a bejewelled crucible/

A collective moan. Groans belching out. desolate sighs/ as the man in the phone booth search his pocket. For another silver coin. Nothing. He searched twice/

The human chain broke. Hearts Broken. No redemption. No anchor/ steps fading. Into nothingness. Hopes whisked away. Like whispering whiff. Thoughts cluttered. Like a chalice. Filled to the brim. With sulphur/

“Mr. President. Can we talk?” – morphed into resolve. Not a request. No longer a question/ but a demand. A right. A powerful weapon. Seen by the broken human chain not as a favour. Now only as their entitled potion. And, position!