From behind the Kei Apple fence, a hen cackles. Then, she scampers into the yard, a cock in pursuit. Right in front of the family, the cock catches up with the hen and mounts her. Eyes look everywhere but in front.
‘You want another slice of watermelon?’
‘Here, the kids have an open space to run and play in.’
‘It’ll rain tonight.’
The cock dismounts; the hen stands up and fluffs out her feathers.
He remembers the song he heard his nephews and nieces sing and dance to during play. ‘Milka, Milka, open the door for an African man; we gonna boom boom, we gonna twist twist.’ He chuckles, inwardly. Everybody pretended the song was as innocent as the singers. Milka. What a lovely name. Growing up stripes it all away. Can you believe we survived our 20s? Into an adulthood so far from the future we’d hoped for. What are we to do with these futures clogged inside us?
Thousands and thousands of stars dot the night sky.
Dismas Okombo is a short fiction writer and poet based in Nairobi, Kenya. His writing has appeared in Brittle Paper, The Kalahari Review, and African Writer Magazine.
Beautiful ❤️
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