Obuolo came to the Kajulu hills
And from the top of an aged boulder
He squinted at the sparkling city below.
Kisumu the city clung to the lake
Like debris washed ashore.
The window glasses and iron sheet roofs reflected the sun
Shining like sparkling splinters of broken glass
On a barefooted child’s path.
He would isolate her from the splinters
He would redeem her from this plastic existence
Where she peddles plastic love
Across plastic counters.
He would fish her out of the debris
Wash off her filth in the mighty lake
And carry her back to his home,
Her home.
From the top of the aged boulder
Atop the ageless Kajulu hills
Obuolo mopped his sweating brow
And set out for the city below.
©2013 Otiato Opali
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