They say, Life is a bitch on the beach,
As that day, we walked beyond reach,
By the White Sands beach…
We met the fishing women of Bugala,
By the lakeside shore,
Of this island in kalangala,
Not kabalagala…
Dust covered their legs,
With streched leggings…
Some, with stretch-marks on thier legs,
Symbolizing sweetness for greatness…
Hihihihi, Ai yessuu!
One had black,
Another had white…
Beyond feet, stokes,
By the lakeshore,
Buttressing dust from going beyond…
Women and men, fish scavanging,
Mumbling unintelligiable words…
Especially about men…
Hail merry
I love stokes, especially Malibu stokes,
One day, while at campus,
We moved with Henry Zaks to Angenior,
And the bouncer checked me out,
For the malibu stock underneath…
My tight khakis,
For which i pleaded,
“ please let me cool my ease”
I settled for one hour in the loos
Without getting lost!,
Alas the while!
We went from Brovad to Victoria hotel beach, within the reach,
Where we got Richard,
In his Orchad,
Like Lake Chad…
All being wierd..,
THE KALANGALA FIASCO IN NSIKO!
The moon was cylindrical and high up,
In the sky, it was hollow and yellow,
So i chanced on this lady,
In dark shades,
Seating by the shade.,
We were all under fed..
As the camp fire did the magic..
Getting emotional,
I picked the guitar,
Stroke it once, twice and thrice,
Singing some childhood lullaby,
“Oyange baro,
Okunde nyowe,
Her self overwhelmed,
Swearing by her grandpa’s grave,
I chuckled inside…
Twice or thrice, the mermaid story begun,
For she was a mermaid,
Not even a mere maid…
Neither was she mad..
We moved, to find ladies, and kids
Quieng for the poo,
To pooo..,,
The toilet smell, filled mother air,
I swear,
Like Kafiti the village Wag…
