Sneezing and Public Manners, a poem by Thomas Rogers Muyunga Mukasa

Sneezing and Public Manners

We look ahead lest we miss the traffic lights as they go green,

we are a group of about-to-cross-the-road-users,

a cold wind blows towards our phalanx as we wait to cross,

the next one coughs and spits a mucoid gob,

a nondescript cigarette in hand, its lighted end blinking, 

he inhales deeply and exhales a type of foul smelling smoke,

cough, cough, cough, he walks haltingly,

the gait almost tottering,

a seemingly pained shuffle of feet,

steps almost nimble or unsure,

sloven attire wrapping a haggard gauntness,

he makes a guttural sound, a prelude to spitting out,

he spits once, twice, thrice on the yellow crossings,

we hurriedly by pass him, spittle on his chin,

tch! a sneeze follows the cough,

a hand reaches the twitching nose,

thumb blocks one nostril,
air forcefully let out from an open one,

one, two rubbings and a bare-hand wiping,

the mucus carrying hand reaches for Ice-cream,

the other arm reaches for the collar corner,

an imaginary nasal wetness is wiped away,

this is clearly a long repeated habit,

perhaps a rebelliousness or improptu action,

this once upon-a-time cultured one,

must have fuzzed about proper manners,

the ones around disposal and use of handkerchiefs,

perhaps the hurried ways of street life,

the absence of a matronly eye,

the one that checks on impropriety or intrasigency,

or the beginnings of losing it, the tell-tales,

a mound of excreta is given a wide berth, congealed spittle there,

discarded edibles half-eaten, bite marks showing,

to whom do we live this refuse?