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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At times in the bubbling heat
Things, a thing is done, said out of character
The uncapped frustration, hitting the surface from the abyss

In the hindsight of the now
Thoughts scream wow, one made a mistake like pow

The left side eye, says shut up
The right side eye, smirks I told you

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Bamboo cane

I dey Datus Co

Yellow shirt, embroidered crest on the left side of my top pocket
Knee long dark, blue shorts
Brown belt, matching synthe sandals

Short afro hair this time, lit. No more in my adulthood, its cool the hairs don’t like my shining scalp now

Lunch box in hand.
Meet friends and to primary school we go, in Bubuashie

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