​at the window
aching
for outside

​sick friends online
getting sicker
purple heart emoji

exhaustion
burning up the body
dawn

​i give dad
the bitter salad
left on my plate

​handled everyday
made smooth
grief

​december rain
i’m missing
so much of myself

You lie there, caressing the minuscule dark particles of my brain
the reminder that you were once here
a constant murmur in my ear
Your sweet voice   — echoing
enticing me to live better
 
to endeavour love and hope once again
Your image severing my lust for life
with a strewn icicle
like the ones that hang lightly from the roof of the veranda
hoping one will fall and slice through me as I slam the door
 
harder and harder each time
to lie by your side, frozen in time with larvae from the blowfly
seems all but a dream to me
one I fantasise about daily
 
I would have the larvae devour my flesh
consenting the soil to make love with my ossein,
the thought of our carcasses inflating reminds me of that summer,
the summer we rented a bouncy castle in the shape of a cat for your birthday
 
together we shall bloat and collapse,
allowing our love of creatures to bounce and feast upon us
Mites  Carpet Beetles  Skipper Flies  Ants
Reminiscing that time I gifted you an ant farm after your first transplant

I Know Of A Boy

i know a boy. raised & bred
in a land defined as "abject infertility"
 
by his dead father's friends & frenemies.
yeah. i know of a boy whose hind skin
 
always kisses the earthen-chilled floor
every night. inside his father's, now
 
his, paradise– the hut. tilted. half covered
with dried palm fronds. the other half
 
lost to the ferocious & unconcerned wind.
he barely sleeps in the long & crawling nights.
 
yet wakes to the first cock-a-doodle-doo
of his old mama's cock & set out
 
for the farm. shrithing all alone
like a lost black bird navigating the cloudy
 
sky. when nature calls & illness strikes
him with a big cudgel. who is he to
 
lie back without mustering the minuscule strength
in his wretched body & set out for the farm again? lest he
 
be screwed by ulcer-causing hunger till
he draws his last breath. like it did his father.

​Au revoir As A Metaphor For Forever
 
sitting all alone. on this old squeaking
bench. outside my father's house.
with my back leaning with comfort
on this chilly wall. & eyes fixing the
moonlit sky. romancing the warm
company of the beautiful stars. the
thoughts of the last time we met
meander through my mind. we sat
on this same old bench. not minding
the blistering cold. or the chirping
of hundreds of crickets. or the hooting
owls in a stone throw from us. you
submitted your head on my shoulder
& i had my hands curled around you
like a blanket. my booming MP3
player playing ed sheeran's Perfect.
you gazed at me from the corner of
your eyes. your alluring eyeballs
radiated into mine. & said "i will always
be here for you…" & climaxed it with
"au revoir" & a kiss planted on my
forehead. hands of time ticking at
light's speed. it's been years within
a twinkle of eyes. yet still no words.
i scourge & scourge every nook &
cranny. alas  "au revoir" is a metaphor
for "forever". so much for "i will always
be here for you". wish i could run into
the speed force & go back to that night
to stop you from finish articulating the
statement. or cease the ticking hands of
time. it's same sky i look at now. yet the
stars are out of place without you around.

 About the author: 
Olayioye Keji Akintunde, studies Pharm.D at the University of Ibadan, Ibadan, Nigeria. His writing explores the self,contradiction and contemporary realities. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming on Inertia Teens, Spillwords, Nnọkọ Stories and elsewhere. Besides Pharmacy & Poetry, he's intrigued by good & soul-reaching music. He's nicknamed Catechol. He tweets @Catechol01, & is @Catechol1 on IG.

She was in a hospital bed calm and still,
propped up, thin bones against fat pillows
hair brushed sleek, like Lauren Bacall.
One eye, the right one, clamped shut.
 
I was thirteen. I kissed her goodbye 
those versions of us, finished.
And now, some thirty-odd years later my eye,
my right eye, by rights,
 
is clamping itself the same way,
firmly shut, as if to say           Business hours strictly over.
And I can tell you now, that shut
is a lot better than skewed, prism, doubled
 
or idly wandering
(my only other options).
Sometimes you glimpse your worst possibility,
then it simply tiptoes along
 
like a restless child in the night, 
climbing into your bed to sleep on your back,
and when it does, you’re calm, because
what else can you do?

On solo strolls through the suburbs of Bethesda,
I can’t help but notice a newly hatched dragon
has attached himself to my right trouser leg.
 
He’s light, not quite three pounds,
and his claws aren’t too sharp
when he grips around my calf for a ride.
 
He will dash into the shrubs
if we ever see a fox,
then scurry with a huff, to latch back on.
 
I’ve never seen him fully,
just his scaly golden tail when it drapes
over the ankle of my boot.
 
And sometimes I’ll get a whiff
of butane, like a lighter not quite catching
when he’s practicing his flames.
 
The neighbors never see him, or at least
pretend they don’t. But babies in strollers
sit bolt upright and point.
 
I think children, like dogs, sniff out illness,
they can find what’s not quite right. But I’ve no idea
how long he’ll stay or how big he’ll get.