Trouble

My mother said they found oil
Somewhere in western Uganda.
I am not excited, she said.
She sounded pained, but resigned.
Stoic, perhaps.
She has seen a lot, my mother.
‘Me, I’m not excited,’ she said,
And shook her head slowly.
‘Oil is trouble.’
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
We said nothing.
She shrugged and turned back to the counter.

You see,

Money’s mad temptations tug.
History’s heavy shoulders shrug.
Rewind, Repeat. Rewind, Repeat.
Rewind, Repeat. Rewind, Repeat.