Two poems by Theophilus Kwek

Witness It was mid-morning. The body flipped, came to rest face-down on tarmac. Unaware, the rider went some distance then, noticing something was amiss, stopped, dismounted, ran back to where a gathering clutch of men knelt and stood. She was already gone. And so were we, drawn on by the bus’s trajectory toward our stops, unseeing, unseen except in one last receding frame. Steep death. … Continue reading Two poems by Theophilus Kwek