Maybe It’s Now A Game Of If Clauses

ZiG, What You Won’t RiG
Ndaba Sibanda

Don’t they preach: creative and home-grown

solutions to our sticky situations? They do.

 

Who says there is a flawless and fast fix

to our economic woes on the continent?

 

Who says we shouldn’t think outside the box?

Who says we shouldn’t have home-cut keys

 

to unlock economic prospects and prosperity?

One man was convinced he had the right cure.

 

This piece of poetry is a placatory pondering pause,

a discursive echo, perhaps far from a precise panacea.

 

Think of a rare, intriguing presidential manifesto

that sought to demolish a nation’s debt in style too.

 

What else can a punter, a civilian, a soul ask for?

Imagine launching a medical cannabis industry

that peddles vast animal parts to an east Asian nation,

all in all, those chunks are considered a delicacy there.

 

The modest memo charmed the youth: no frills just

a dose of ganja and hyena testicles will heal hitches.

Ignorance is no bliss, for did we know that 1000 hyenas

have 2000 testicles? Raise your hand, if you did? You see…

 

And who ever thought that hyena testicles were medicine?

Of dog and hyena meat as lovely lucrative exports? Seriously.

 

Seriously, it was reported that there was some media mania

around that man’s crusade on which the youth had grown.

 

Now, maybe the youth only have if clauses to deal with, like

what if he were the magic, what if the nation had shipped … ?

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