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when she couldn’t get hold of Mum.

Apparently, Mr. Ndour’s fiction

is more convincing than reality.

Mr. Ndour, the snake, phoned Ms. Sarpong

when I was walking to her office.

Ms. Sarpong wouldn’t listen to me.

Ms. Sarpong had said I could talk

to her “about anything.”

But “anything” clearly didn’t include

one of her teachers having a vendetta

against me and The Boys.

Ms. Sarpong said I had “an attitude,”

which maybe I do and maybe I did in that moment.

She cut me off with a raised hand.

“Okay, Malachi, that’s enough,” said Ms. Sarpong.

“You need to calm down now.”

Granny shows no signs of calming down,

now or anytime soon.

I know Granny feels under pressure

because the school contacted her.

I know Granny feels afraid

I’ll become another troublesome grandson.

I stay silent and still at the kitchen table.

I slump in my seat as Granny continues to shout.

I dissociate.

I leave Granny and my body behind.

I sink underwater,

and I can’t hear Granny clearly anymore,

besides the occasional swear word

in explicit and explosive plosive patois,