Bishop Street

A street that once echoed with the plays and laughter of little children.

We hop up and down the rugged, muddy street
with lots of pot holes--Asare, Nina and I;
our black rubber slippers splashing dirty water
on our brown faces.

We skip to the little lady at the top of the street.
Her attenuated body sits on a small stool 
by a tiny table filled with gums and sweets.
Her worried look dissolves into a smile
as she sees us with our pennies.

We fly to the swamp at the bottom of the street
treading the plank to the other side with
the utmost care.  No potholes with dirty water
on this side of Bishop Street.

We are dazzled by the black scintillating surface
before happily and hastily diving back to our side
of the street where we jump into potholes
making a mess of our clothes.

We sit on mats and stools outside Twenty-One Bishop Street

Our stomachs filled with the last meal of the day
listening to the stories of the clever tortoise
cunning his friends in the Animal Kingdom.

We go to sleep at midnight on our straw beds that pinch.
I smile as I close my eyes. I'm happy to live on this side
of Bishop Street.

                                                                                  Birgitta Abimbola Heikka.