Hurt in the Head

  Allen  avenue looks brighter tonight– the streetlights make the tar shine, somewhat. It's a busy lit street, and I am here wondering what I came for. Recently, I see myself unintentionally walking the streets, purposelessly. Sometimes, at the canteen– after few plates of rice with no coin in the sack; other times, at the boutique. Once, I refused to pay for vodka. It tasted like the one I lost. How does it feel to get this much attention? As I roam, people's eyes bore through my skin. I must be attractive.

Tonight, none of their concern matters. Across the road, my ex-girl stands 5'9 above the ground and across the road. Dark Leo with a cross tattoo on her wrist; silky long hair flowing down her shoulder.We don't talk anymore.

The day she left, they said, I opened my eyes to the clouds so high; my back to the ground, and aches in my head, and noises, too. I had had a few shots of soju: a Korean alcoholic beverage, a couple of mentos cancerette and some stimulants. I must have slept behind the wheels. They said. 

Now, it doesn't hurt in the head, but I still hear  voices: come, no, OK, go. Yes, go; light a candle and say goodbye; cry; eat today, don't eat tomorrow; walk the street; don't talk, don't sleep, just cry; laugh; run– the noise. I heard the doctor say I've lost it, but I swear it doesn't hurt anymore.  Or maybe, after all, it still hurts in the head.

Onifade Oladimeji Samson Dlog