Forget that I am portending that the dictator in Kampala will one day not whoosh past in his convoy.
Forget that I am foretelling that we shall mourn the Kasese massacred, that we can’t mourn today.
Forget that I do not see the going on the pieces of paper thrown into iron boxes every five years.
Forget that I do not see it in the copper and iron of the bullet either.
Forget everything I say, now.