Concrete Zoo

Ramanq said, we live in a concrete zoo.

The rogue mouse, ant and the silver fish. The moth and the crane fly. Oh! Our good old friend buzzing sweet nothings in our ears, voyeuring and nibbling on human flesh, the mosquito.

One doesn’t need to go the Kpenna Zoo to see the animals or the insects. That is an expensive farce, animals and mammals captured in captivity. A prison bee for entertainment, sorry edutainment, you see.

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See

See, from temporary death one wakes up in a single breath

See, to a grateful life one is alive to apply the why

See, births in this time, deaths in this time

See, the worries the fleeting, the drowning despair

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Mrs. Kwafia

The fuchure was imminent.

Crickets conducting their choir practice in the thin blade grass fields. Orange clouds, up and above, building. Parting ways, ever so kwikly fo deh sun to pose in the firmaments’ catwalk.

Indoors, in the Boys’ Quarters, shouts and screams. Upstairs, downstairs, about turn, the children are playing. She calmly said to her five year old twins, Ata the boy, and Ataa the girl;

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The Interview

On a thunderous windy day, the sun was beat. The sweltering heat from the whipping blades of the sealing fan’s speed. A hot breeze forgoing the cooling tease. Outside the flat, the forecast read forty degrees. Inside the flat, the thermostat read forty five degrees. A supposed environmental discomfort.

Lingering goosebumpy stress due a pending panel interview in two hours, stress? Just like unidays, late preparations were to blame. This was for a shapeshifting opportunity of work and play, earning moolah whilst at the game. Sheesh! No pressure to bring him to his knees then.

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Bait

A polar night, the sub freezing temperature of -55°C in Bunjland. An island where +55°C is normal. Climate shifts in earth’s adapting.

Zanso and Yafi were two friends from wayback when. Nursery is where it began. Mums, Qafi and Ofsi will drop them off during the school run. The gents 20 year friendship, matured like the morning birdsong.

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