News at Nine
What the news said:
A little boy was found along a bush path
missing some body parts.
The farmers had been battered again.
Hurricane Michael was not kind.
The violent graphic images
would not stop playing
in his mind’s gallery.
the little boy on the sand:
one slash across his temple
another across his neck
the man who could have been his age:
a cave in his stomach
his intestines cupped in his palms like an offering
He shook off the gory slideshow
and reached for his comforter.
He ignored the warning on its pack,
lodged a stick between his lips and
the lighter’s fire kissed its tip.
As the smoke caressed the walls of his lungs,
rippling that sensation of strange sweetness,
he realised that not everything that can kill is violent.
On Revisiting My Childhood Neighbourhood/How It Hit me
a) Either my eyes ballooned or
Itu Bridge shrunk in size
b) Elephant grasses on the shoulders of the road
faded into limestone
c) Bad governance hovered over
the city like rain clouds
d) Ayade Is Working was the mantra
e) Felt like a stranger in my own memories
f) I got welcomed with outstretched
hands of childhood
g) The sands I played on have been covered with tar
h) Donald Duke’s footprints
still glowed in the dark
a) Friends I left as kids have grown
beards and breasts
b) We sought to rekindle the flame of friendship
c) Cold air blew from the chasm
of distance and lost time
d) We used nostalgia for balm
e) Euphoria became the blanket that warmed us
Poetry © Zenas Ubere
Photo by Joshua Rawson-Harris on Unsplash