Poem written as part of Inua Ellams workshop before Find the Right Words, Wednesday 30 September, Upstairs at The Western. Read at the same open mic session.
Smudged mascara on a Saturday night,
tears falling down your face after another fight,
after a terrible job at mixing your drinks,
after mixing your lovers
and mixing with him.
It was not waterproof. “But it said on the box
it could last for twelve-hours, non-stop, such a fox”.
You would look like a star that all groupies would screw,
but you feel like the rain that is ready to burst.
Your mobile down the toilet.
Don’t you text, don’t you call.
It’s the heart that compels you,
while your conscience is gone.
As you recline your tits by this week’s draft selection,
you just go for a Guinness and get lost in its flavour.
It’s as dark as your future, but why is it so nice?
It’s as dark as mascara on a Saturday night.
Had to share it as today is National Poetry Day or something. Mind you, I hadn’t written a poem in ages; and that day I wrote two! Second one is coming soon. Also, expect a small chronicle about Emergency! at the Y any time.