The world ––its bad auditory nerves making the wailing of a girl
sound like blues. & they danced on, most of the boys in the neighborhood.
Once, in class, when asked what reaches boiling point sooner than liquid,
I answered: my seething bitterness against the world of men.
But I love my father still, I hate to see my brothers weep.
I’ve loved a boy so much that I named my poem after him.
The toad raced over by a car on untarred road was what he made my heart.
I do not mean I welcome all men. Mediastinum quakes–– bald men
with barb-wired beards make my heart craves flight.
Considering where the disobedience of Eve has led us
I surmised, that everyman has the right to retribution against us,
which I dread wouldn’t favour them either. What do you call a home
without mothers? Isn’t grave a garden without flowers?
Ramatu Audu (she/her) is a Nigerian teen writer of Ebira descent. She hopes to grow from a budding stage of writing into a pro.