Marry me to your desirable realities
my bondage to this pernicious ghetto facet is not entirely by desire.
Naked realities on a decent white page,
reality have taken the pen to a realm of no shame.
Whores in plenty,
booze in bulk
and smoke in abundance.
All eyes on the two drunks on the dancefloor
dancing to a raggae tune
before that to a rhumba song
and from what we have seen so far
pop and blues cannot be that much of a challenge to them.
A mug shared out of love,
a smoke shared out of desperation
you wont be far fetched to conclude;
a woman shared out of lust.
I wonder too
what will become of this bar
when this shared woman starts to cough.
Just a puff around thwe bar,
The shared woman have just checked out for a ‘quikie’
and quick enough it has to be
if she is to collect all the money put aside for her tonight.
Its a sorry sight watching friend after friend
checking out a whore when the condoms have all sold out.
Apologies if the poem carries in it some decency;
If the truth be told there is no semblance of it here.
Dont blame it on the writer
your decency should tell you to this cause he is a worthy fighter,
dont blame it on the streets and bars either
you sympathy should tell you this is home for our misery
when we take off a jacket of our misery awhile
while puttring obn another one without notrice.
Dont blame it onĀ stupidity either
profound circumspection and introspection will sure show you
this is a choice they did not make entirely.
Please please do not pity my soul,
pray instead forv the brothers and sisters in the ghetto
whose wishes do not reside with them in the ghetto streets,
where at eighteen they shared a room with mum and dad
and those streets and bars had to play host to them
while mum and dad were having sex at night.
Where they had to suppress a tear when mum and dad put up a fighjt at night
after dad came home drunk while there was no food at home.
Please please if you can,
marry me to your desirable realities
and see if i cannot divorce this my miserable realities instantly.