By Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme


I found myself in a restaurant,

The waiter smiled, then a little chat,

I clasped both hands, and then a nod,

Picked up the menu in a plastic card.

He looked again and said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


I glanced at everyone in there,

Buried my head to search for thrill

I smacked my lips and swallowed hard

At every food that caused a stir.

He looked again and said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


I picked ogbonno and ewedu soup,

Some pounded yam and afang too,

Maybe oha or banga soup will do,

I thought of my angry stomach’s growl.

He looked again and said to me:

Ma’am, which do you prefer?


Can I have some native soup with some

Seafood to quench my hunger’s fate?

Do add Ofingo and fresh shrimps please,

Isam, Mgbe, Ngolo for my tongue to tease.

He looked again and said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


The atmosphere was getting cold,

This waiter gave a look that scolds,

Upset, I asked for some point and kill,

Some Peppersoup to keep me warm.

He looked again and said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


I tweaked my mind a little bit,

I spotted Kekefiaye on the menu list,

Can this be done by half-past three?

I waved my hands in sheer delight.

He looked again and said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


My heart began to pound so fast,

Agege bread and Ewa Agoyin;

The perfect meal at last!

This might just be my lucky day!

He looked again, whispering to me:

“Ma’am, which do you…prefer?”


What shall I get my mouth to eat?

Ekpang Nkwukwo, my eyes did spot,

Fura de nunu, Masa might just be fine

Or fresh Abacha with some Palmwine.

He frowned so hard, then said to me:

“Ma’am, which do you prefer?”


It’s now sundown, and still no meal,

I had to make a simple choice

Of bole, groundnut or some barbecued fish

Or nothing at all that fire had killed.

He leaned over, then whispered again:

“Ma’am, is this what you prefer?”


He heaved a sigh in displeasure

His countenance, of one bemused

Just then, I found another delight

Guguru ati epa at the end of the list

I smiled so hard and then said to him:

“Sir, now, that’s what I prefer!”

12784251_10153307139027301_137869184_n (1)Edwina ‘Neofloetry’ Aleme
is a Port Harcourt based Spoken word Poet. She is a graduate of Theatre Arts (Playwriting/Screenwriting major), University of Port Harcourt, Rivers State, Nigeria. She is also a trained professional makeup artist from the House of Tara Makeup School. Edwina is one of the co-founders of a fast rising poetry group called FIGURES OF SPEECH (FOS). She has written many unpublished works, performed on several platforms around the country and Ghana.



Cake Making by Archita Mittra

mum’s polka-dotted apron would be stained

brown and yellow; a child would peer

at the strange orange universe inside

a yolk and a crow would search for treasure

inside empty egg shells lounging in the sun.


there’d be flour on the floor, like powdery

snow, and the smell of daddy-brought chocolate

mixed with the richness of raisins and magic

berries and autumn nuts that the squirrels

had missed. vanilla icing was made of love.


sometimes there’d be cracks, tiny scars

from a hasty mixing, or a cruel oven,

artfully hidden by blood-red cherries or an excuse

or a candle that knew exactly where to cast

its light. love mistakes are always forgiven-


or at least that’s what you thought, before

you were unmade, with maturity and motherhood.

cakes, like souls are labours of love, but

but, you forget that ovens had another use too,

other than a place for sticking one’s head in.


ArchitaArchita Mittra loves to tell stories with words and images, and has a fondness for the vintage, the imaginary and the fantastical. A freshman at Jadavpur University in Kolkata, India, she is majoring in English Literature and is also pursuing a Diploma in Multimedia and Animation from St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. She has won several writing contests and her work has appeared in numerous online and print publications including Quail Bell Magazine, eFiction India, Life In 10 Minutes, Teenage Wasteland Review and Tuck Magazine, among others.


LUNCHTIME by Nwachukwu Olusegun Nwachukwu


As your hard crust caressed my curved lips,

My mind imagined infinitely

The production process

Through which you were birthed…


The softness of your wheat fibres

Tickled my taste buds,

And at that moment,

I wanted nothing more.


Dear Wheat Bread, warm and tender,

Your taste lingers in my lingual flesh;

You gave my molars no resistance,

And my gastric mucosa bade you welcome.


chukwuNwachukwu Olusegun Nwachukwu is an unpublished writer whose love for poetry runs deep in his marrows. Some of his works have featured in the Nigerian NewsDirect Newspapers, Kalamu Review Magazine, ACEworld, and his personal blog – He is a 300 Level MBBS student of Babcock University.

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