Early morning mired
In drizzling language class
Passed first assessments
Though fluency still I lack
Practicing out on the road
With the local pastoralists
Kids flocking to me in droves
Won’t let go of this
Hand without money
Though reaching to hold
Tiny beggars’ five digits
Smooth, ***** and cold
As beside me a barefoot
Joy bundle abounds
With a pace to match mine
On the hard, rocky ground
But my feet unperturbed
By just do it disparity
Different upbringings
Though similar clarity
Youth in full motion
Freed, careless in stride
Growing up in the
African sky
Countryside