Kenny Kwan

Thumbing through the past,

I remember when Kenny Kwan

punched me in the face and broke

my glasses.


I spit up blood like a spittoon

and floods of tears drowned my words.

Kenny was punished and I was sent home.


I did not tell my parents what happened

that day, but the event tainted my jollof rice,.

the rich timbre of my mother's cooking. 


The next day,

I befriended the playground grass,

as green as grasshoppers. I watched

the sun stain the earth while Kenny

was hectoring another timid, skinny

innocent like myself.


Kenny Kwan, the instrument of destiny,

the ragged edge of my youthful memories. 


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