Rift Valley

There’s a monkey on my back,
yes, yes, a real monkey.
Is there no beauty left in Africa?

I’m not embellishing the truth.
Fresh off the summit of Kilimanjaro
your armpits split from heaven.

Your blonde hair in spirals
wrestles with the monkey,
he won’t fall for the banana trick.

The British put a halt
to that kind of cart,
left us with only this defense.

Your eyelids and lips
have finally succeeded
in getting rid of the beast.

His tail lies twitching
far from the rift valley
which is going to become an ocean like us.