Mercy told me I would get myself killed if I tried to cross the street while eating a mandazi.
Traffic patterns, raindrops, and locks of hair falling haphazardly into the trash bin. Choke on diesel fumes, curse out the cops, outsmart pickpockets. I’m anonymous, I’m a slumdog millionaire, I’m a piece of shit on your shoe. I’m a gangrenous smog that settles deep into your lungs. Breath in. Breath out. These cracked heals just need some cream. Let’s agree to disagree.
These sidewalks? Infinite. And these people? Warm. Be patient, I can make your skull implode. Delicious, palpable, white hot anger. Atta girl, you’re coming along nicely. I’m cosmopolitan, I’m sophisticated, I’m chic. I’m decaying underneath your feet. I’m a putrid current flowing through your veins, Poseidon’s trident through your heart.
I’m a condiment smothered across your lips; a furtive, sideways glance across a table. I’m an uninvited dinner guest. To a grand feast of shoes. Tooth to rubber sole. Flesh on gravel. Vulnerable. Exposed. Let me whisper sweet nothings in your ear, silky soft and smooth. A candle wick burning to be lit. Writhing, waxy dreams. I’m a shotgun misplaced. Limp but brazen. I’m the bullet that escaped into the night.
I’m the quiet that follows. The monsoon that has settled. I’m the ricocheting shards landing at your feet.
It’s your move.