Rich Boys

Rich Boys

By George Amadi

Low-sugar malt drink

In recycled tin chilled

Right before me

Sat, a straw tall

In it standing,

The eatery table

Monitored,

Flies kept away

It seemed.

Two over my food buzzed

Whilst the pipe,

Like an enforcer

Standing by,

Into an observer

Transformed when

It mattered.

But without hesitation,

Not one to be finicky,

I dug into a chicken-pie

Worth its name,

Watching closing-hour

Traffic

Build up.

End-of-year pupils                            

Of a private school,

From their luxury bus

Stormed the joint;

Every bit of food

They snapped up.

Not long after making

Good their exit

Than did

The absent-minded

Rich boys

Return, only

To ask after

IPhones, Tablets,

Automobile-keys,

Lizard-skin wallets

In a hurry left behind.