Stories and Poetry

My father’s son

Shadowy figure trapped behind glass
Written by Rasheed Otegbola

My father’s son is the ultimate bastard.

Sired by three fathers and two mistresses

Sowed at a brothel in the ghetto

On three nights, dank and drunk


But he’s also a monk

His temple on Kilimanjaro is grand

With loud quietude from coherent humming

His disciples wear green leaves and thick barks


I did tell you he’s a misfit

My father’s son drinks ales like fish

Puff smokes like the steel mill furnace

And knows the flavours of whores by sight


He was never on any airplane.

But my father’s son has been to places

Captured by map or imagination

He mentored Gulliver, Alice and Apollo


My father’s son has got some loose nuts

Doctor said it’s “delusion of Napoleonic grandiose”

He’s skipped his med for a while.

Did I also tell you he’s a poet?


Photo: Alnajafi Blog 

About the author

Rasheed Otegbola

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