I once looked beaten.
Damn! I was thrice lucky.
Serve me three apples for breakfast
and some snakes for dinner.
A life of iffiness was lurking.
Until the Lion met Luckins!
The cubs are screaming:
We are descendants of Lion king, the immigrant poet.
Kirsten is a synonym for poetry!
Permit me to spit the bars and some spoken word that rhymes.
She spread her smile so Diverse.
Scratch Tyne. ARC. Scratch that.
Your exit makes it all surreal.
We will meet at the roundabout
where poetry merges into the junction
that leads to spoken word street.
© Tolu’ A. Akinyemi
Photo by Dorin Seremet on Unsplash