At the backyard—

There is a convocation 

of potties with broken 

and happy Faces.

On the line—

There is a soaked wrapper 

that throws the fragrance 

of urine in the air.

In the latrine room—

The chickens’ cages 

breed mites with 

biceps. 

There’s a makeshift 

kitchen at every door-

step. We know what 

our neighbors will eat 

for dinner. 

The passage of the rooms—

an everyday collector 

of goats’ droppings. 

On days our parents 

answer the hustle-bustle 

of the market—

we play 

mummy and daddy in 

darkness. 

A weekend has the strength 

To carry curses and duck-fight—

Blame it on the limited lines, 

mixture of wet and dried wears, 

or a missing panty.

Káyọ̀dé Ayọ̀bámi is a Nigerian and an African literature enthusiast, interested in Academics and Yorùbá translation. His works have been published or forthcoming in echelon, icefloepress, Olongo, Àtẹ́lẹwọ́, PoetrySangoỌta, isele, Ake review, South Florida, and elsewhere. He was shortlisted for the ake climate change poetry prize(2022).