The Watering Hole

We received a gift at the office today.
A square woven hamper of things that
go in your mouth. Cornflakes,
lemon grass, milk, a termite’s nest,
toothpaste and a freshly hatched baby
lizard sleek with yolk.

Take whatever you want, my boss
said to the room. And we trod
Forward, in white shirts and black
Bottoms. Zebras intent on the watering hole.
Stacked from front to end like glued-down dominoes.
The fluorescent lighting buzzed like a fly.

I welcomed the thought of
cramming my mouth full of sugar cubes.
My cheeks, an awkward womb
round with a fetus that’s all belly and gangly legs
And fur and flies buzzing around a
slippery, wet head.

I reached into the balding basket
and went for the chocolates instead.
I chewed slowly. As the termites dispersed,
a tapping began. The pen in my hand
morphed into a twig.

The time was barely three. The lizard yawned
and crawled around the office seats. I stretched
my candy-sticky fingers to both sides of me until
they met the plastic of the cubicle. It gave way
with ease.

My shoes crunched against the fine Savannah sand.
My hands came away with sticky tree sap. As the miles
blurred before me in the sweltering heat, I turned
my head to the ticking of the clock, my ears pushed
forward.

And then the drums were only the drums.
I eat and sleep and drink with the herd.
Time and all its friends blow-balled into a
Whirl.

Kaothar Kadir is a twenty-year-old poet in Nigeria. She began writing poetry when she was seven. In 2022, she was shortlisted in the Nigerian Students Poetry Prize. Her work has been featured by OneArt Poetry. Apart from writing, her interests include, rereading books, watching indie films, and writing essays.