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naisola & children in the future

at five: we need to talk

 

when you asked me if i had a wife

i hushedly said no; afraid they’d hear

& rolled another chapati for penina

(i wonder what happened to the dough you washed down the sink at ngakuyaa‘s!)

 

last night, in ngong,

i came to collect you, daughter

my family never showed up

–except for noosim: your family–

they never do for these kinds of dreams

 

but:

we shall sit & talk

about crafting an apology for yeyo

–sometime in the future. & kokoi, too

 

for now:

tell me sanaa;

what did you mean

when you said i was your cousin?

 

Categories: Poetry

Neo Musangi

i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).

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