THE EASTAFRICANPOET

My lover can only love me behind drawn curtains. The bed must not creak or the neighbours will hear us. On Friday evening, when her parents come to visit, my lover cannot love me because they want her to marry a man. We all sit at the small brown rectangular dining table beneath the high serving-hatch that opens to the kitchen. My lover and I sit on one side, her parents on the other. She sits facing her father, who is tall and meaty. He laughs like a big drum. He eats like a big drum too; his inside is large, empty and hollow. He is shoving big ugali mounds into his mouth. I think that her mother must know, because mothers see the air that mixes between lovers. Her mother must know because she is studying me like a specimen. She narrows her eyes, tightening her brow at the same time. Crow’s feet choke the mole next to her left eye. Her face is lined around the eyes, but is otherwise as smooth and deep brown as a loquat seed. Small grayish bushes peep from beneath her blue head...

..but si when people look at me, they think me ni punk. Yes, because you’re very pretty. You giggle; it’s throaty. Like a laugh that won’t grow up. You want to talk. I want to stare. Yeah.. but you know I don’t like it. What? Being pretty or people staring? You look daggers at me. What do you think? Duuh! Silly. The staring. You slap my thigh. It stings. I perish the thought. Lucky me. My jeans are freshly scrubbed. You sit beside me, thighs touching. Yeah.. that’s why I pass here. My bro showed me this chuom here. Haina usororaji. True..this is better. I also really don’t like being watched. Now pass me my blunt. I dab silently, I’m thinking of you. The chemical euphoria slowly gives way to a silent calm. You know I’ve never had sex? Waaaah!!  I’m patronizing. You must know I won’t believe. You feel you have to tell me, I listen. I just feel like I should start when it’s right. But I know St...

This piece of haiku poetry is very personal. You’ve got to love the brevity that leaves so much to the mind. This is one of those that can be interpreted to mean something and everything. The Need Nothing satiates. Voids unfilled. These are the times.