FEELING DRY

To Labour in stressful jobs
Like swimming against the tide
Where the dreaded confluence
Of Niger and Benue flow,
Not south, to the creeks of delta
But in reverse subliminal current
Ebb north into Sahara desert
Leaving me dry and wordless
And eating away my musing moments
This toll on poetic grace makes me
Once again, long for the glowing days
When prosaic litany gave way
To spontaneous overflow of rhythms
That gave me voice to speak the word.