to the hill hacked out on the air
maize carrots bananas cassava and Irish
goodbye sleepy Mbale
to the hurtle of supermarket pharmacy and bus park
to a school of 3,000 children drifting up
wherever the tide may bring them in
to the eddy and whirl of a country town
lazily, almost fancifully held
in the drowsy haze of an African afternoon
as generations tumble around their roots
en route to family riches in a poverty-stricken present
or to an acquisitive future in a middle-income land . . .
dream-busy Mbale, spare me a thought at my going.