MISTAKEN FOR A MAD MAN

MISTAKEN FOR A MAD MAN   A middle aged man worked in the market Doing a bob-a-job to make a living He carried baskets of banana and beans And collected stipends for body and soul   With wheel barrow, he rolled in the goods From the road to the sellers’ stalls inside In and out he ran to catch up with the day While dirt covered him from head to toe   When evening came he packed his kit And picked up his tattered umbrella With pockets full of small bills and coins He set his steps to meet his wife at home   On the way he encountered men in-charge Who gathered all the lunatics in town In one straight line they marched like slaves To the asylum, where they put them away   They beat tin cans with discordant tunes The music echoed the insanity they suffered With saucers in hand appealing for alms While their captors watched from afar   On sighting the poor drudge coming in rags The guards mistook him for the insane And they asked him to join the queue He queried them and refused to comply   Two stocky men stepped out with force of brute He wrestled with them to free from their grip They heaved him high and dropped on the ground With elbow scratched, blood came rushing out   The passers-by were befuddled by what they saw The look on his face gave an impression of dismay Was it a crime to be a poor man, he seemed to ask And he shouted loudly, ‘Chineke… Police no dey’