April

Friends, Nigerians, countrymen, lend me your skins;

I come to jab April, not to push her.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their adrenal glands;

So let it be with April. The timid Deena

Hath told you April was enthusiastic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath April answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Deena and the rest–

For Deena is an irate woman;

So are they all, all irate women–

Come I to speak in April’s funeral.

Next Chapter