Life In Abakpa*
by Ugwu Erochukwu Shedrach

& this a haven where a boy swims to find a name in the dead river of the street. here; everyone creeps to himself like a snail on a rainy afternoon.  everyman lives at the verge of his burning throat. their voices are hidden, a child becomes a man and a man becomes a child. the paradox of running/away from home.
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I should be at work
Window open
This hot satin afternoon
Room evaporates into

Milk on the breeze

The girls come
and they go away again
but before that
some of them come to bed with me. We hold eachother

A squirrel smashed so fine no line
Between impacted fur and asphalt black,
Until crow rooted the powdered bones,
The blood sparked from a catsup pack.

I.
My father was a soldier too skinny for his frame.
His wife lived in North Carolina. She has a young
name. My mother has an old name.

And the blueness of you
Pulled at me, sticking
to my edges
like torn paper.

Law school is difficult, is
the epitome of luxury

living. One might think
evil never happens. A huge,

relatively private beach
where deck chairs line the

strand. The weather starting
to warm the one-of-a-kind

nightlife. A small town
in Canada leads the way.