The Party

It began with the pictures

then we arrived at the oldies’

an army of aged men and women glanced at me

elastic skin,brittle bones

Then the greeting,an obligation,a custom

I sat down listening to the live band’s Fuji music; my mother tongue

I sat down,also discombobulated with little or no emotion

I hid in my cap but it seemed like the cap wasn’t doing much

The they came( middle-aged ones) ready to evaluate my history

comparing my present to my past

‘You’ve grown’ they screamed-noise to my eardrums

Then I brought out the fake smile-another obligation, a requirement

They interrogated me fervently hoping I’d give them answers before my food arrived

I answered a few but I was distracted by the intense aroma of red wine

from Southern Australia,consumed by elite Nigerians.

My mind tried to race around but all I saw was the Mercedes Benz 200 and it stared at me

like the photographer.

I wanted to leave the gathering,but I could not

it seemed like I was stuck  with elastic skin and brittle bones

12th July ,1900h

i sat unmoved,stationery

i needed my pen and journal.

 

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