By Mofolasayo Ogundiran
Everything is loud, even our bodies at
when cabs halt at our flags of thumbs, ask us
where and swallow us whole.
When the bartender is alone smoothing down the
wood; one last look at the redhead whose hips lit the room on fire. When
everything is hot, even the slightest run
of a hand between your thighs fractures the
cool, leaves you pecking
at a stranger’s ear like a retarded pigeon
looking for comfort food. Below the snow shoveled asphalt, you’ll find your
religion on a train that rumbles nowhere,
and the rails won’t mind that the veins in
your arms are bruised chameleons morphing into dead-end signs, because tonight,
everything is wide, even the elevator swings
like a pendulum. And inside your motel
bathroom the neon buzz will stay strung
out on your face, dying you some kind of
yellow. Right then, I promise to be there-
loudly and hung, the only arrow pointing you
away from the glow.
.