Peachtree's Core
By HANA NJAU-OKOLO The train rolls into Peachtree Center Station, Passengers alight. Thick black braids projecting North South East and West. She heads south on the platform. Moving in step behind her Trusting her built-in compass A coiffed hair-do and A proper bespoke suit. His meeting is southwest At the Ritz Carlton. Black mascara over blond, Stiletto heels and all. She has time to kill at Café Hard Rock. Ping Pong paddles in tow, He heads west with alacrity. The World Congress Center has An All-Star show. The comings and goings of folk In this spherical gray passageway, Dry coconut husks adorn Solid gneiss walls Cut from the strata of the earth. A moving stairway towers ahead Continually rising To a bright light in the sky. Multitudes of screaming blue tiles Plastered to the left and to the right Cry out in the light And die in the solitude of darkness. Lips pursed, She sucks unrepentantly At the marrow Lodged between her teeth. No. 3 at KFC. Who’s scared? She quips. The two-minute...