Naked Like Godiva

Walking through the tall grasses of the old neighborhood as cracked sidewalk chomps below my clod-hopper shoes, dark faces peer out from the thick foliage, watching me warily, eyes turned about white as moons in the slanting sunshine.

And Auntie rides by on a bicycle buck naked like Godiva saying my name but forgetting the b so I am now "Menjy! Menjy! Menjy!" and I wonder is she not dropped on her head as a baby as thin arched back sails up from the banana seat and I make every bit of this is a dream but an omen maybe.

But before it, all the test, the test, the fucking test as I hand over two booklets to the old white man seated behind a desk with dripping bulldog jaws and I ask myself

-- who is he? As the computer terminal stares blankly at inscrutable type and I wonder what exactly I'm being tested ON.

You leave the classroom, outside, and you're walking around in the African bush.

"They're stuck together," he says as if someone spills a pop on two comic books.

One is black and white.