On a hill not far away
On a dumping hill of rubbish
Where the vulture live birds have a field day
When the Angel of Sani left the station
When he himself went to the rescue
As a recluse in the midst of effluent refuse
Where the scavenger had a filled day
On a day’s walk not far from home
When you spot the waste disposer
Not far from the Dump Hill
Spilling and dumping at will
From a home not far from a Dump Hill
Where the willing attempts of the angel of Sani’s Station
Failed miserably to stop the spiller
From spilling and filling at will
From a cooking pot of hot broth
And a load of a sticky mound of semolina
Hurls pots and loads of husks and peels of chaff
From a kitchenette to an exotic eatery
From a restaurant made for a spouse to neglect a spouse
To a fried rice joint of garnishing chickenette
From one corner to the side corners
Would a spilling of a pouring
—a scattering of a squatting occur
Before a draining rain concurs
On a night not far from a draining rain
In the bleak future of the rain drains
When all attention centres on a raining pain
The worried angel of Sani’s station
Received all the spilling attention
On a night not far from a dizzying rain
In the cold of a drizzling hail
When news of a thrilling episode of death
Rang through and across the news trail
The lonely angel of Sani’s station
Was the only one trending in Ghana newsreel
Even when the one outside Sani’s station
Was willing to make a donation for a ration of trash
The agent of Sani’s station quoted above the ratio
Even when the one outside Sani’s station
Pleaded with a zooming lion
For a zoom pick for a donation of a ration
A fuming explosion of abuse rattled thus;
“Drink the juice from your own ration
Drink from your own cistern”
On a hill not far away
Where the scavenging raptor preys
And flays the Dump Hill with unmeasured speed
To form a feeding creed
The ghost of Sani hereby dismissed.
