(I wrote this as a way of saying thank you to those that wished me well on my birthday on the 17th May, 2016.)
The flames of hell have broken free, order
Raining ‘pon like a mother’s curse, moans
Next door, ‘pon the battyman’s batty, knack, knack, slap!
Greasing, greasing. Shall burn in fucking hell!
In here, skin ‘pon skin, rubbing, rubbing, greasing
Man meets woman makes child makes life,
Skin without skin can’t be greasing so, but creamed
Woman alone can’t be moaning so, but pervert
The joy that comes, ineffable and immeasurable
In and out, in and out, up and down
Man thinks, ‘Is not this paradise?’, smiles
Man is the monster, battering the woman
Ruthless and overpowering, grunting
‘Open wider!’ This is war, and
Man is General, ordering the woman
And no soldier must disobey a direct order
‘Oh, this is divine!’ Man has turned Jesus
Son of God given to Mary
And no disciple must betray Jesus, but Judas
Fucking Judas. Shall burn in hell!
But woman is no Judas; woman is good
Woman wriggles, moans, Fisher of Men
So man turn toddler, ‘I want, I want. Give me more!’
Clutching, leaning, clinging, pounding
I want, I want, I want more
This is love and woman is mother,
‘Alright, sweetie, take it all’ Good mother
More pounding, more groaning, more greasing
This is a race, and woman is a slippery track
And man just keeps going, going, going
Groaning, moaning, groaning, moaning
The finishing line is in sight, No!
Man doesn’t want to finish, neither does woman
Referee, Umpire, whatever, move it forward,
The fucking finishing line! Or I’ll blow
Your fucking head off your fucking neck
You hear me, fucker?
But no response, nobody. And man
Is just approaching finishing line, woman too
And both are holding their breaths
Holding, holding hands, can’t but go slower
Woman looks like she’s about to die, man too
Finishing line is coming closer, chaos
Woman shrieks, bites man’s shoulder
Man trembles as if possessed by evil spirit
Man shrieks, too, collapses ‘pon woman
Man and woman are breathless, like a
Marathoner. End is already here
And a new life is made.
About the Author:
Faruq Obatolu has just completed a National Diploma (ND) in Mass Communication from Yaba College of Technology. At eighteen, he’s been writing for well over a decade. Some of his short stories have been published on Tuck Magazine. His poem “Teacher” was published on Yaba College of Technology’s Campus Watch. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria.