Abebe, the cook's son
Abebe, from a distant afternoon
Abebe, from an afternoon where everybody naps
even the donkeys propped against trees
on their little hoofs
Abebe, tall as a eucalyptus tree
Abebe, black all over when he pisses on a eucalyptus tree
who jaunties down dirt tracks to the honey shop
buys two drippy honeycombs in a box
Abebe, the cool boy in drainpipe jeans and sky-blue sneakers
Abebe, the busy crossing where girls stop to chat
who clicks his fingers to the funky Ibex Band
as we saunter back up track
Abebe, calling come here! to the dog called Come Here
Abebe, trotting round the dog-yard like a horse
who saddles up the smoky horses and takes me prairie-galloping
who makes a dash at mud-caves where hyenas sleep
who shows me how to cook kwalima beef and ginger sausages
and a chickpea fish for Lent
Abebe, gobbling up the afternoon like a kwalima
Abebe, grinning like a chickpea fish
while everybody naps
kwalima: a spicy dried sausage made with minced beef and ginger, as well as plenty of pepper, cardamom and turmeric
