Photo by Muhammadtaha Ibrahim Ma’aji from Pexels


they say that age creeps in like an army of bean-weevils and 
nibbles on youth with voracious hunger: that the 
eaten years morph into wobbly teeth that can hold,

no more, novelty; into ragged stomachs that slice 
nothing but sagged bacteria and spit out new wine. age 
tells the old to rest because the mind is shedding itself 

of the weight of life and the burden of exploration — it is 
a piece of chewed gum: once soft in the mouth, bent, stretched, pulled;
then left to simmer in the sun until creases bake into cracks and

pale brownness blanches into dirty white. i saw a fine old chap the other day,
arguing with his legs about who should own liberty. his legs disagreed
and boycotted the confab. his teeth sleep in a cup now, and the ten-year-old

whose sprightly body caught his drooping weight now
(like a stream of angry commas) punctuates my sleep with
nightly screams when his mother visits to change his bandages. 

Victor Femi-Lawal is a Nigerian medical student who writes because of the unparalleled powers of expression it grants, the clarity it inspires, and the tomorrows it helps birth. His work has been featured (or is forthcoming) in Odd Magazine and Kalahari Review. When not enmeshed in YouTube or study, he can often be found in his Rivers home reading, listening to music, or crafting quatrains to an orchestra of coconut trees. You can also find him on Twitter, @vickthurfl01.

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