My neighbour’s garden in blossom is the only blessing
We are at the orchard backyard, inspecting
the succulent fruits,
gloriously ripe, and unfettered by the plague.
She plucks one
of the tomatoes, holds it against my cheeks,
and says I share
lineage with the fruits because of the way I, too,
this season. I cannot deny it even if I wanted to.
alone is exhibit to that effect. Hitherto, I spent
mornings listening to
the animated fitness instructor on a workout app
tell me to
do sit-ups, burn layers of fat. Until the world was
cursed into this inertia,
I was only a layer before that board-esque belly, nearly
as chiseled as mannequin
but lethargy has paralyzed every projectile sustained
in my marrow
This connivance of junk and a lifetime of siestas
has made tomato of my cheeks
and avocado of my belly.
Abdulbaseet Yusuff is a Nigerian writer. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Brittle Paper, Glass Poetry, MoonPark Review, Burning House Press, Kalahari Review, Rising Phoenix Review, Memento: An Anthology Of Contemporary Nigerian Poetry, and elsewhere.