Poem
Musaemura Zimunya
You haven’t met her
You haven’t met her
You haven’t met her
Of course, you have not met her,Loveness, the sunshine of the city,
once the honey-pie of the ghetto,
the sugar-loaf of the township
and now the ice-cream cone itself.
The white mini-skirt clung to her figure
like icing on a cake.
her breasts plunged ram-horns
in the hearts of men.
Her fried eggs broke a marriage contract
now Tito’s home is a village wound
that babbles with the gossip
and the bitter cries of a mother.
Tattered, the children’s bottoms
have taken the hue of ash-earth.
Sam, the little one
has a head the size of two footballs
his bones and ribs
cry for an enumerator.
© 1985, Musaemura Zimunya
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Publisher: Longman, Harare
Reprinted here by kind permission of Longman
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Publisher: Longman, Harare
Poems
Poems of Musaemura Zimunya
Close
You haven’t met her
Of course, you have not met her,Loveness, the sunshine of the city,
once the honey-pie of the ghetto,
the sugar-loaf of the township
and now the ice-cream cone itself.
The white mini-skirt clung to her figure
like icing on a cake.
her breasts plunged ram-horns
in the hearts of men.
Her fried eggs broke a marriage contract
now Tito’s home is a village wound
that babbles with the gossip
and the bitter cries of a mother.
Tattered, the children’s bottoms
have taken the hue of ash-earth.
Sam, the little one
has a head the size of two footballs
his bones and ribs
cry for an enumerator.
From: Country Dawns and City Lights
Reprinted here by kind permission of Longman
You haven’t met her
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