August Break By Okogbule Wonodi

After three months of long rains 

The land is a sodden bed 

Of dried pond. The tarred roads shine 

Fine threads of steam to the air.

The playgrounds jump and chatter 

With the presence of children 

In games abandoned yesterday 

When the sky was falling tears.

The streets bustle with vendors, 

Calling their wares by sweet names; 

And the radio shops yell out 

The rival sounds of Highlife.