The Art of Sticking It Out — Akachi Obijiaku
On rainy days,
my mother sent me to the night market.
I’d battle the winds, the raindrops,
the perverted bleary eyes.
I’d conquer the sneaky traders.
In unexpected recessions,
my father would send me out to find a job,
lock me out our metal gates until I got one,
and because I had to,
I’d find a way—or multiple.