by Joe Mwenda Download pdf ~ epub ~ mobi
The
hangover that should be gone by mid-morning lingers
The
afternoon solar is lethal
A
brother sells cabbages by the roadside
Blocking
my path, of fellow in hurry, impatient, tired walkers,
Of
those that cook, of dust.
How
else will the cabbages begging to be bought be seen?
Tomatoes
are on sale.
It’s
the mango season so mangoes too.
Korogocho
market is the supplier our roadside retailers
it
is a close to the home of our garbage
A
story spreads about lead concentration
in
the blood of Eastlands’ kids,
of
veggies watered by the Nairobi River
The
cabbages I see are bad investment
"Who
would buy such, to sell or to consume?"
you
might ask.
They
are typical of a starter business with limited capital.
Wonder
who would buy that mango?
Don’t
ask, don’t wonder.
A
man might one day grow dreadlocks
decide
that it is sinful with such locks
to
trim others’ hair
so
closes the barber shop he has always run
leave
you with nowhere to shave for he knows your head best
start
selling cabbages and mangoes that you might never buy
even
in the desperation of unshaved hair.
But
I am the son of my mother
these
brothers, that yell 'cabbage mbao! ‘cabbage mbao!'
in
this lethal afternoon solar are not of that mother.
This
sun can kill, besides, I have a beard-trim to figure out.
I’ve
got to get to the house
Excuse me.
~~
Download pdf ~ epub ~ mobi
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Also
in This Issue
Short
Stories
Poetry