I wrote this poem while waiting for my documents at the embassy. I was given my number on entry, and later on, the cashier called my number. The cashier handed me a card machine without telling me what the payment was for, and I thought to myself, ‘what if I didn’t bring my card or have money in it?’ I only found out what the payment was for when I went in to capture my biometrics because I noticed that they posted the information on the board there, and I wondered why they didn’t post it in front so everyone could see it. So as I sat waiting for the next step, I took out my notebook and penned down those words, howbeit frustrated I was at their oversight.
Swipe, Swipe, Swipe The more it gets swiped the smile on my face turns into a frown. I whisper under my breath there it goes again; the swipe. If swiping was like losing weight I'll gladly swipe, swipe, swipe. But it's not my money is dwindling I'm losing money weight I need to gain money weight more and more Because at this rate of the swipe I may be money dead. © Jan 2022, Joana Ekpott