POEM: JOHNSON MONSTERS


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My Protest As a Child.

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            Credit: Thetrent I was my father's able right hand man. That was in my primary and secondary school days, anyway. His Provision store and Bar was virtually my room, kitchen, parlour and everything. I spent most of my childhood days under his care (never as if mum wasn't close, I was Daddy's son). When I was preparing for common entrance examination, he swore to make sure that I attended a boarding school. It wasn't a cheerful gift by the way; he had expected me to say no because little boys in our neighborhood cried each time their parents declared that they would be going to boardinghouse. Sending you to a boarding school is more like a deterrence. It was almost synonymous with punishment, because when you go to boardinghouse, you're totally disconnected with the love that flows in the street. And those who went to boardinghouse narrated their horror experiences, ranging from seniors bullying you to a a compulsory morning devotion and the w...
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