Efe bit the hand that fed him.
The fingers cried – pitiable waah!
The thumb watched in awe.
But Efe showed no remorse.
He would still carry his shoulder,
like one who hides a boil in his armpit.
Every hand rebuked Efe.
Pointed, accusing fingers blabbed –
he was no different from that ingrate
who, after a free meal,
told the woman of the house
to make the meat more tender next time.
Then one day, every hand asked Efe
why he bit the hand that fed him.
It was then they knew;
the hand that fed Efe,
had fed him poison all along.
