His wife is as
assiduous as
a mother bird.

She keeps
the windows
clean with rags
and buckets
of vinegar and
steaming water.

What happens here.

He sweeps
the ceiling
and ponders
the meaning
of the word
perspicacity.

There are
mornings
spent fussing
over underused
demitasse sets.

What happens here.

There are
afternoons
side-by-side
on the front
porch glider,

watching clouds
attenuate across
a porcelain sky.

What happens here.

The smallest
sounds never
fail to surprise
them.

How sparrows fold
like feathered paper
below rectangles
of polished air.

*What happens here,
happens over there.

Sister Bisi,
A serial fashion killer
From what I remember, her beauty was men's dealer.
Her ostrich legs would move her,
Like a car without adequate fuel
See, I doubt it if sister Bisi could really "****"
.
Sister Bisi,
Her smiles could make you render
Her your head,
Of course, before placing her head-drink,
You would be dead!
Calling her "Beautiful" was an understament
.
Sister Bisi,
I once believed she was a witch
Her eye lashes elongated like  palm fronds
She could barely swallow "amala"
But she could linger on "noodles" and
"suya"
Her lips would dance like flowers in the air
When she says "like seriously"
.
Sister Bisi,
I admire you, till yesterday,
When a circle of unending presence beheld you
Besides the "gutter" you could barely cross
Your twins on the chest shaved away!
Like demolition of  our public library.
"she's been used" I heard from murmurs, I was keen
Only to know that you were a "slay queen"
.  
Balogun Tolulopez Ayodeji David(drunk poet)
©️2017
ANA Aaua chapter

I wear Adams DNA
feel the space where I miss one rib

can taste that fruit that everyone says was an apple
whereas in fact it was no such thing(check it out)

every snake I see I can hear a serpent hissing
knowing I could be dinner

all my clothes are eaten by moths
no matter how much I hide my nakedness

the sweat on my brow drips into my eyes
blinding me to my folly

I work and acquire, work and acquire
all in vain and false labour.

Often I think that's it. The way I want things to be.
My future life.
Think this is gonna be my wonderful home.
We can grow old like this.
Together.

At good times I'm convinced of that.
But sometimes the thoughts getting dark and sinister.
Bonding is binding.
I won't do it half-heartedly.
I'm afraid of sharing my life.
Losing my control.
Relinquishing my independence.

And then I see you and everything lights up and I ask myself:
Why are you hiding your life?
It should be OUR life.
OUR control.
OUR independence.

I look up
at the stars,
and sometimes I
think of all
the parallel
universes and
hope to ****
I’m doing better in
one
of them.