To Kill A Mockingbird

My father was feeble,
was nearly fifty,
had a tribal curse of the finches,
and would not remain inconspicuous.

He was nearly blind in his left eye,
never did things our schoolmates’ fathers did.
My father won’t teach us to shooot,
rather sat in the living-room and read.

Atticus did not arouse anyone’s admiration,
was never too tired to play keep-away,
Jem was football crazy,
father was too old for his son’s tackle.

I was committed to a policy of cowardice,
all thought I wouldn’t fight anymore.
This was not entirely correct,
Francis Hancock knew that.

Uncle jack instructed us in the rudiment.
Father wasn’t interested in guns,
he preferred Jem shot at tin cans,
he knew his son would go after birds.

Bluejays was all he wants Jem to shoot.
‘Your father is right,’ she said,
after I heard father say, something was a sin,
and I asked Miss Maudie about it.

Mocking birds don’t eat up people’s garden,
don’t nest in corncribs,
they rather sing for us.
It’s a sin to kill a mocking bird.

Tomide Abdul