by Hassan Ismail Adekunle
The market celebrates first.
Screens bloom green
while somewhere
another mother counts
the hours between explosions.
A barrel crosses
an invisible number
and suddenly
every analyst has a sentence,
every politician
a target,
every headline
a price.
No ticker records
the cost of a fisherman
who does not sail,
a child who learns
the grammar of sirens
before multiplication,
or the cashier
watching gasoline
rewrite this week’s grocery list.
They tell us
energy is security.
Yet the lamps
burn brightest
in boardrooms
far from the sea
where ships move
like nervous prayers
through narrowed water.
History has learned
to invoice grief.
It sends the bill
to those who never voted
for missiles,
never traded futures,
never owned
a single share
of tomorrow.
The market closes.
The sea
does not.
Screens bloom green
while somewhere
another mother counts
the hours between explosions.
A barrel crosses
an invisible number
and suddenly
every analyst has a sentence,
every politician
a target,
every headline
a price.
No ticker records
the cost of a fisherman
who does not sail,
a child who learns
the grammar of sirens
before multiplication,
or the cashier
watching gasoline
rewrite this week’s grocery list.
They tell us
energy is security.
Yet the lamps
burn brightest
in boardrooms
far from the sea
where ships move
like nervous prayers
through narrowed water.
History has learned
to invoice grief.
It sends the bill
to those who never voted
for missiles,
never traded futures,
never owned
a single share
of tomorrow.
The market closes.
The sea
does not.
Hassan Ismail Adekunle is a Nigerian poet whose work explores contemporary life, politics, memory, and identity. His poems have appeared in Willy-Wash and other literary magazines. He lives in Nigeria.
