Matilda listens to make sure they’ve gone out knowing Mr Doozie the cat is licking his milk the slurping sound fills the now silent room but she has to be sure her aunt and uncle have gone she can’t allow Moses to come in by the backdoor until they’re long gone and in the town buying and selling their wares she places her hands on her head and closes her eyes to focus her listening to close out Mr Doozie’s sounds the saucer of milk being pushed across the floor the purring but she cannot hear them now cannot hear their voices can’t hear Auntie’s whines and Uncle’s bellows can’t smell Uncle’s pipe or the aroma of his farts or Auntie’s sour body odour and sniffs the air and puts one leg up on the chair and lets the skirt fall back revealing her fine thigh and underwear something for Moses to see and get excited about not that he needs any encouragement  especially after the last time he came around when her aunt and uncle had gone off for the day to market on the old bus and Moses had sneaked in the back door his eyes peering around the door and she saying They’ve gone out you can come in and he did and while Mr Doozie sat on the end of the bed watching disinterestedly Moses had kissed her all over her body and after games of foreplay he’d entered her with subtleness and moved in a slow motion so that the bed only moved and rattled slightly and did not disturbed Mr Doozie and they had only just dressed and was letting Moses out the back door when Auntie came in the front door followed by Uncle with his arms laden with shopping and moaning about the prices and the shop girls and how there is no manners anymore and she feeling Moses’ ***** easing down her thigh and stood there with her innocent stare but this time Moses would need to be quicker as they had only gone to town and wouldn’t be long and if they returned earlier and caught her and Moses undressed and ******* with Mr Doozie sitting watching she doesn’t know what they’d say or do although knowing Uncle he’d chase off Moses with his walking stick and tan her hide until she cried and cried but Moses hasn’t come and she listens out hushing Mr Doozie with a shush shush and scratches her thigh and strains her ears was that him? She sighs opening her eyes sitting up looking towards the door waiting anticipating feeling the body’s urge the body’s need wanting Moses to come through the door and hurry with her up the stairs followed no doubt by Mr Doozie and quickly ******* and into her bed and setting aside the kissing and messing get on with the ******* but the door remains closed the room is almost silent apart from Mr Doozie’s licking and purring and the soft tick tocking of the grandfather clock and her heart thumping boom boom boom boom like a small drum all around the room and inside her head and she disappointed frustrated with no *** with Moses just a small empty bed.

It's a bit different than it once was
A little harder to breathe
A tad shakier standing back up
And obviously, not enough effort to brush the dirt off
So it just sticks there
As a reminder that the fall was a doozie
A real eye opener
(Or closer if I do say so myself)
Definitely different than before
It seems impossible that the bruises should ever heal
And those scraps?
Oh, they'll be scars one day
But when?
It's difficult to say
Plenty of time to find out though
One step forward is all it'll take
To begin the process of moving on
But as the dust begins to settle
And falls like salt on the open wounds
It's as if the brain is no longer in control
Turn around
Walk
Move
But no, instead you just fold your arms around yourself and watch
Reliving over and over again the disastrous fall
And the bittersweet journey that took you there

A beaming light on a naked street
like the city's torch bearer
scooping the earth for a doozie
with rabid consciousness and vigilance.

The muse of a watchman
guarding the city gate with his sword
survives a seldom attack at midnight
and finally woke up on the city side.

I am the custodian of chronicles
filling the drums of history
with our dossiers and narratives
the keeper of the dorp.

As busy as a bee
a journalist is a ceaseless being
spying and stinging the earth
with his pen and flashlight.


© A. O. Nwulia Literary Diary 2016

All I have to do is, "Hello, how's it going?"
and the scene is set.
Some swell of social masochism
stuck inside my head at best.
That step one is a doozie,
but not taking it means staying in.
So going out's the other side, ****
seems I've lost my coin again.
Alright then.
Here, let's try this then.
"Ain't seen you in a while, man."
-Been busy. Girlfriend, house, and job.
-No time for getting out a lot.
-I'm moving next month, see ya round.
Oh. Now I see.
Seems everybody else but me
is doing fine, is growing, building, going,
getting paid and getting laid
and all I said
was, "Hello, how's it going?"
Now I know. I'm either made
of stoic parts expressing little
keeping down these feelings brittle
cracked, sharp spines in blood seek sunlight
or to contrast this, they just might
be the other side of same.
I mean, they could be saying things
convincing arguments of health where
they don't have to face themselves.
Regardless. I'm unguarded
and this talk was quite unhelpful.
I'mma go now. Think I see a friend who just came in.
I'll try again.
"Hello, how's it going?"
And I'm answering this time,  I'm fine.
I'll take a double short
with *** and coke and wedge of lime.