Читать книгу How to Be Eaten by a Lion - Michael Johnson - Страница 13

Rainmaker

They called you in their need,

none believing in your ricketed

legs and bird bones, the desiccated

eagle head you carried.

You shook your lion-tail sceptre

at their quiet ridicule,

strutted your beads and spat the dark fuel

of your prayers into the fire.

After the thunder and cloudgrace,

were they tears on weathered faces

laughing their thanks? Did they

ever believe in you rainmaker—

or was it enough they cried, Asante!

Asante! and drank the water?