Tic tic tic
your clock is moving
because it is my perennially occurring lot
I must move with your clock

haul bags of cement to and fro the site
what else is my back made for?
Cement. Sand. Gravel
Mix.mix.mix
Mould.carry.plaster

my feet is aching
my back is breaking
my head is throbbing
but I must finish this
because a labourer deserves his wages

drill.drill.drill
drill till you bring forth black gold
then open the belly of the beast
in its belly you will find the blood of the innocents
its breathing echoes the sound of mortars and warships
armageddon is now

mine.mine.mine
mine till you knock on hell’s gate
the cavern spits forth fire but you must mine still
so that your master can adorn his women with the finest jewels

five fingers are not equal
you tell me
why do I have to be the small finger?

From Japa Fire: an Anthology of Poems on African and African Diasporic Migration, ed Ambrose Musiyiwa and Munya R (CivicLeicester 2024).

Adaora Raji is a writer who works as a scriptwriter and content producer for Playroom Media, and has a BA in broadcast journalism from the University of Benin, Nigeria. Her fiction has appeared in Arlington Literary Journal, Midnight and Indigo Literary Journal, and the Coachella Review among others.