In a field
on a path beneath a mammoth mango tree
two black sisters stop to chat

The bright-eyed one is Africa

Hair teased and piled thick
with glossy braids
hip shot
bottom small and perfect
orange kanga-ed cabachons
breasts heavy as papaya
fertile as this green and fevered coast

And below
musky folded feverish
a copy of that saucy smile

And connecting those two smiles
a column at her core
carved in high relief
twined with panting song
figures of men
erections stiff
powerful
rise

The carved column connects
to those lustrous eyes
the moist clove-bud lips
and that glossy fragrant smile

Her name is surely
Africa