Owerri 1977-1978

The Lines We Laid in Owerri
by Gerrard Wilson

I worked in Owerri, back in the day,
Where red dust danced in the heat of the clay,
And the palms would sway in a lazy trance,
While we gave the wires their chance to dance.

With spanners and schematics in greasy hands,
We dreamt of dial tones crossing lands.
Through humming cabinets, cables tight,
We built a world from voice and light.

The market buzzed with morning cheer,
Plantains sizzled, and goats drew near.
Children waved as we passed each street,
And shouted “Oyibo!” with stomping feet.

The exchange room echoed like a cave,
A hum, a beep, a tone so brave.
We tuned and tested, firm yet kind,
Chasing ghosts down copper line.

At night we drank by lantern light,
Tales of home and signal might.
Mosquitoes hummed a backing beat,
As frogs declared the rain’s repeat.

We patched the world with loops and wire,
Laced every call with quiet fire.
No fame, no fanfare, yet still we knew,
That something grand was breaking through.

Owerri’s air, so warm, so wide—
Still hums inside me, deep with pride.
A voice, once silent, spoke so clear—
Because we passed the signal near.

The Ballykillduff Banger (A Mad Poem)

In Ballykillduff where the hedgehogs roam,
Lived Jimmy McGroggan in a bathtub home.
With a mind like a blender on setting “explode,”
He built a wild car that defied every code.

He cobbled it up from a lawnmower’s spleen,
A toaster, a tricycle, parts of a bean.
The wheels were all different—one square, one round,
One came from a pram that he found on the ground.

The steering was made from a bent frying pan,
The horn was just Jimmy yelling, “OUTTA ME VAN!”
It ran on potatoes, or tea bags, or jam,
And made noises like sneezing a whole Christmas ham.

It backfired at priests and startled the sheep,
It clattered and clanged like a robot with sleep.
It once outran lightning, then stalled at a bog,
And reversed on its own into Mrs. McGog.

The windscreen was glass from an oven that died,
The passenger seat was a toilet with pride.
He raced through the village, past bins and the nuns,
Screaming, “I’VE INVENTED THE FUTURE—WITH BUNS!”

The guards tried to stop him with road spikes and nets,
But he flew through the air yelling, “NO REGRETS!”
He landed in cabbage, still puffing with glee,
Shouting, “SHE FLIES LIKE A TRACTOR IN ECSTASY!”

Now tourists all visit to worship the wreck,
Which smokes once a week and pecks like a peck.
It’s parked by the pub, with a plaque in fine brass:
“This banger was faster than gas, horse, or lass!”

So raise up your spanners and sing, if you dare,
Of Jimmy McGroggan and his wheeled nightmare.
For though it made chaos, and startled ten cows—
It’s the pride of Ballykillduff even now.

A collection of cosmic horror

23 Jul

Coming soon

M	T	W	T	F	S	S
	1	2	3	4	5	6
7	8	9	10	11	12	13
14	15	16	17	18	19	20
21	22	23	24	25	26	27
28	29	30	31

The Crazymad Writer Writes Again

Daily Archives: July 23, 2025

Owerri 1977-1978