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listen to
the geckos
by
tolulope ogunlesi
LISTEN TO THE GECKOS SINGING FROM A BALCONY
she and me share the space
on the balcony, eyeing the world from outside
like baby geckos trapped in a busy bathtub
we
are homesick
but she has no home
she lives in the tear-filled valley between homes
while
i paint buses with clay
she chokes both of us with her wedding pictures
saved all these years, like medals wilting
in a desert of embalmed silences
every
now and then she joins me
to mix the clay, hoping one of these days
i'll learn how to make arrows
for
her, and someone will climb up
and come knocking
without them caning us.
DEATH
STOOD A LITTLE FAR FROM THE CRIB
(for Frank Stanford)
I looked at you. No.
Not that one with the smile
Facing the dust. No. The other one
I
thought of Moses
Looking out, thinking the exit from Egypt
Passes through the corridor of a revolver
Each
milestone is a bullet.
For you leaving Egypt meant leaving
A Nile behind. Its source is more
Than just another blood-shot moon blister
Maybe
the last thing you thought
Was if homeless muses could swim
Maybe not
SHE TO HE
I love to see you
Stuck to your seat
Unable to stand
I
love to see your
Hands at war
In the trenches of your pockets
Praying enemy supplies run out
I
love to see your
Circuits run haywire
HE TO SHE
How awful
To be run
By a battery
Of blood, tidal moods
Run by a flowing blood-moon.
We
Always
Get to bear
The brunt, slaves yoked
To an Egypt of mood-swings
"Just
once a month," you say
"A few days every month."
But
we scan the fine print
And think of never-drying oceans,
A never-thinning thread strung
Through the oceans.
YOU NEVER KNOW YOU'RE DREAMING UNTIL YOU WAKE UP
You step into a nightgown
Knight-upon-a-mare descending
Into a nightmare, a world where
Nothing is left out, where
Scenes await as dignitaries
Welcoming a visiting Head of State.
You are the Head of State, because
Around you everything revolves, but
You know your State of Head is suspect.
You shrug and weave past sleepy-eyed cobwebs
Meeting faceless folks, yet you can swear
You know who they are. If you're like me
You're always falling. You climb
Hundred storeys without railings
Only to discover you climbed to fall.
You go places you never dreamed of
Meeting cousins you never knew existed
Failing exams you didn't write
Or knew you had passed before,
Marrying that girl you've given up on.
The last thing is always the Banquet
Awesome and Grand, you always forget
They warned you never to eat.
If you're like me you won't even get the chance
To eat, not even to mumble the Grace.
You stir, fingers like nets, fishing for
The fragments from the sweatpool
Under your head. If you succeed,
You gather them, steady your groggy head
And decide if a fresh odyssey is worth the trouble.
DULCINEA
We sit together drinking
Waiting for the last drops of Don Simon to dry on our tongues
She
thinks I'm a duffer, like Quixote
I call her Dulcinea and she answers
I
wait in vain for that puzzled smile
Her eyelids are already silent. Like a long kiss
I
wonder why she snores
Like a dulcimer's song
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
The rights of Tolulope Ogunlesi to be identified as the author have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and patents act 1988
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