there’s a place
at the crossroads
where everyone’s welcome
the jihadis come
pulling at their trousers
and restless of foot
fistbump and never give up
and the school children’s
ties hang thirsty
as the Baobab
clustered round chocolate
and it’s here that love lands
cooling its ardor and
bickering like doves
over kitchen appliances
in the new Argos catalogue
and it’s where I come
making my jihad, drinking my chocolate
and cooling my ardor:
fistbump and never give up