The Contest
The grey curtain reveals
Svelte giggle from clean teeth
Mother stands to the reveal
To be or not to be
Contours and lines mar mother's
makeup
It is time to ring the ring
Tables set to throat wetting meals
Underneath two feet dart about
Easily uneased
I look up; calculating the atmosphere
The moon's beauty calls yet
Two eyes are calm but fierce
Like the lioness to her prey
Another with the fired feet are
Flamed with uncertainty like the
Fluctuation of a currency
To be or not to be?
This coven echos
I sense the bubble of confusion
Then Dress it with light talk
Till the air lifts slowly
Four eyes earlier locked
Grow warm again.
Copyright © Amen Egbe | Year Posted 2024
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