The Exchange is the Weekly’s poetry corner, where a poem or piece of writing is presented with a prompt. Readers are welcome to respond to the prompt with original poems, and pieces may be featured in the next issue of the Weekly.
Consumer Report by Chima “Naira” Ikoro
- on a rating scale, most people say just “fine”
- impressive, super efficient
- capable
- made for families, protective
- relaxed, unhurried
- willing to do long distance
- top pick if you prefer frugal, reliable, comfortable
- plenty of space for your baggage
- good if you don’t expect anything that inspires passion
- not an end goal, just a means to take you there
- not a dream but pretty good for now
- fun, fast (if that’s what you want)
- not needy, easy to fix
- easy to buy, too
- good on gas.
The Nissan Altima won the MotorWeek Drivers choice award, and is an IIHS top safety pick.
Isn’t that enough? What, you want me to post you, too?
Prompt:
“Write about a time when you wanted more for yourself, but felt stuck.”
This could be a poem, journal entry, or a stream-of-consciousness piece. Submissions could be new or formerly written pieces.
Submissions can be sent to bit.ly/ssw-exchange or via email to chima.ikoro@southsideweekly.com
Featured below is a response to a previous prompt from a reader who is currently incarcerated.
Fruits From A Poisonous Tree by Marvin (Prince Saleem) Alexis
They say bad fruit comes from a bad tree, sprouted from a bad root of a bad seed.
However, we, we have somehow forgotten the awful gardens from which these particles were planted and plotted.
Sown and sodden by a psychotic potter’s hand.
Surrounded by murky mildewed milieus which serve as toxic arenas,
Where wild weeds were tranced then mutated into wild hyenas
Who circle our nurseries, poisonous fangs seeping venom, dripping to rip us from our culture and roots.
We were shamed, then stripped of the knowledge of SELF.
They drew a line between Him and I, then divided the two.
They exiled him to the heavens, and made him out of reach for our spiritual pursuit.
Our education was then soiled by 10th editions and false renditions,
All while being washed and bleached like dishes of its literal truth.
We were made to be blind, deaf, and dumb folk.
And the moment we began to turn the tides like jump ropes,
We were told that we would never accumulate to more than the cumulus… But, those clouds were just gun smoke.
So, they kept us high and drunk folk.
Then said we’d never have the vision to see beyond the haze of our prisons… But see, those clouds were just blunt smoke.
Unable to reach the stars, we began reaching for straws, Scurrying to assemble ourselves as scarecrows to fend our seeds from the vicious murders, their ravenous teeth and lacerating claws.
There was no winter wonderland, no Aurora Borealis, Only cold, cold horrors that,
Brought morbid darkness to our promised lands, Turning them into killing fields.
Chima Ikoro is the Weekly’s Community Builder.