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MEMORIAL CITY
That shameless one whose voice is loud,
whose ways are wild,
who is the reason the media frown
and cover their noses,
all I can hear is the rhythm of her heart,
her street bleeding oil and spices and struggle.
Another land, another life.
Chips for dinner, queues at checkouts.
The neighbours measure their laughter
and fart carefully.
They have never known Lagos:
Lagos swinging, Lagos jumping,
Lagos wild like a restive child
faith hugs to the breast, fall after fall.
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