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Photo by Christiann Koepke on Unsplash

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

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