She was like it. The roads.
The towelling mounds, conflicted,
with deep valleys burrowing skins
And shifting, shifting spines as the nuisance music blocks the ear
But last time it was actually sweet singing
when it was new, the robot becoming
Like the melodies of the birds in the nearby mountains maybe.
Are there the birds? Still?
Maybe
But it was sweet singing sung swift
Swifter with new-born roads.
She was just a girl. Back then
Bless her, an woman now.
Read the poems in the ongoing #makewego collection here. My Monday couldn’t have gone better after a rough start. How’s your Monday?
©Awo Twumwaah 2018.
Afua Awo Twumwa 