Joel's Plate
By HANA NJAU-OKOLO Joel’s teeth chattered noisily shamelessly betraying him again. Ten days into Indian summer and His built-in weather vane was signaling the onset of winter. “You ain’t no man!” Pealed into his eardrums. It’s fresh cadence seeping through, The knotted heap of perpetual questions Lining the cockles of his heart. Undeserved taunts spilled from The lips of boys and girls With sweet pubescence Around the school yard. Why at no cost, Will Joel exhibit that false bravado, The Big Apple swagger of his hometown? Now, choppy phrases enunciated in pain, Trip off his tongue as he tries to explain, To Ms. Bona Fide, once again. “Wait a minute, wait a minute now. Let me talk!” Was all he asked, he explained. His lanky back retreats into the tightly woven fabric Of the special brown chair, as he waits for Ms. Bona Fide To meet him half-way. The iridescent make-up on her eyes shimmers across the table, An oasis extending beyond the hospitable smile on her face, Warming the strident ...