Mr My Pocket

Member of parliament my friends the peasant from the bar joked that your new name is “My Pocket” but that’s a story for another day. As I stare at you behind these jealous glasses, my etiquette weeps in poverty as my nose picks a whiff of your fragrance. The windows of your monster four feet romance the broken tarmac as you ride off dusting the promises you made to us dance on our broken hearts. I remember you smacked me with a thick slime of saliva during the campaigns as you rapped and sung the key to service delivery but now days the only service you have brought near me is that of servicing the busty university babes as you extract their oil juices in your car. You swore to transparency in service delivery but your vehicle is heavily tinted. You check the ministry in service delivery but i wonder if it’s you who has turned into dev’t agency. The other day you carried an ambulance and dumped it in walls that didn’t have medicine or doctors but with a broken sign post reading” Hospital”. This was before you had given each child from the village a book in the constituency to read wonder whether in bushes because MP we don’t have schools here for my son just told me your work is to lobby hope not on your balcony for its a nice view you have got here at your house brother for its a nice job you got in the legislative spreading lies. My old sembule TV set wouldn’t help laughing at your shallow debate hiding the other day. It laughed so hard I had to slap it to keep it showing the pictures from parliament. Your debates are qualitative like a drunkard who can’t make out the number of people serving him the bitter as you keep running around playing numbers games as to which party has the majority in parliament. I wonder didn’t you have enough of the hide and seek as babies and the talk of the president has become very sickening. Did you bring that place called the bank here for us or to serve you for you turned into banking withdraw book accumulating bank loans.

I even stopped reading the local news papers because i know if i listen to you will be doing the blame game pointing at the government at how powerless you are just like me neither do i visit the local comedy shacks around town for you making a lot of noise and less sense because you stopped reading so i wonder how you get time to research about what you debate about because the library is clean and the books intact. By the way did you have enough of that Italian movie because god fatherism is knit with you especially with those who have been their long enough hiding in the talk that this is politics we made noise in the beginning but calmed down then why do you lie to us when you come campaigning of what you to change. If you that powerless how come you assumed too much power most of it spends time giving yourselves fat salaries and oceans of tax free allowances. And if you ever dreamt of being models and radio pundits why did you waste time campaigning, or you don’t know the meaning of the word auditions. The ladies are like the dolls on pioneer mall shops with hands filled with bangles like they are cattle from Karamoja attending a traditional ceremony while the men try to dress like they are trying to be on the cover of the next issue of men magazine. You lingo is dot com with connotations like, warrup as though you missed puberty. Many of you are ‘Was up MPs’ looking for the cameras and the media flashing new suits and white teeth your are pieces of i presume your paper with children’s paintings onto because your legacy is to compete with city tycoons like Sudhir Ruparelia in owning the next multimillion structures and not one of creating the next generation of leaders for you busy reporting like journalists telling us what government has failed to do.


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