Because I am black, I know it does not surprise you
that I killed when I was seven: I killed a wall gecko
because our mother was afraid of it
she tells me to hit it on the head, don’t let the tail fall
she teaches me to be clinical with my executions
our mother never says anything about jail
each time I hit the head, the tail falls
I did not tell mama of this
she will tell me I have sinned
she locks herself in the bathroom when I go to dispose
the cadaver, she warns me not to bury it in the garden
I fear that she fears it will grow on her day-lilies
tell me, how old were you, when you learn to fear,
to fear me? when will you learn to love the roll
of my tongue?
tell me, when will you learn to pray that this merry go round?
Hussain Ahmed is a Nigerian writer. His poems are featured or forthcoming in Vinyl, Sakura Review, Public Pool, inter|rupture, Rise Up Review, One, and elsewhere