Kites from diapers.

There is a huge roll of diapers in our cell-
Ayienga, plans to make a kite out of them.
From the edges of his blankets,
He has been drawing off strings for his work.
There is paint packeted under his mattress
And he is going to squeeze his kite through the ventilation windows.

I am scared for solecism in here-
These askaris are brutes.
When the mice smell out Ayienga’s paint,
I won’t want to be an alibi-
He is my friend but he needs to take care.
I just want to finish my time.

He draws on all the walls.
With the metal he twisted off his bed-mesh,
And his caricatures are always taunting the fetters.
In the wee of the day,
He narrates how a comrade was shot at Freedom Corner
On the day of his arrest and how his rifle was disassembled.

In the letter he received from his maiden,
She was putting a squelch to their love-
My friend was weeping,
He was rancid and as he dampened his hands
So did he dispose off his inebriation.
He cursed her orgasms!

Until yesterday, I shared this cell with Ayienga.
In his sleep, he’s a nagging nuisance.
He laments at how the rehabs are twitching his arse,
And he won’t be joining us at the workshop.
The seats we craft, he says, are cushions to fetors.
And the dividends only reform the constable’s tastebuds.

So tonight, I’m disturbed by the bugs,
Ayienga was whisked away for his frail kite.

Mutua, who used to be a dedicated practitioner at Nyayo,
Refused to go back into practice.
The precision of the scapels scare him.
He says that things are better here-
When his friends are asleep-
Out there, TVs and radios all have disected throats!

© 2015.

2 thoughts on “Kites from diapers.”

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