Prodigal Mother | Nyashadzashe Chikumbu
What am I?
That gum you spat seconds
before you even chewed.
The black illegitimate son
you exorcised from your
societies.
With Regurgitated filth – rats
I was baptized in the slums.
Graced in proletariat garments.
My Creative ingenuity Splatter(ed)
like a fly between
a spatula and gravel.
As I dived, medulla first into
stagnated mud pools.
