Life For Rent
Sticky on me like grimey sweat made dry after a long walk through Balogun market. Clingy like the gung at the bottom of my dunlop that I can never get off. If only I could take you off and throw you away as easily as I do the slippers after each market trip.
You don’t budge.
You sniff me out through bustling crowds and seas teeming with body odour. Through blind market runs, thick in the middle of a bargain hunt, you cast your net and won’t stop until you find me.
You call me out with no words and I hear you louder than the deafening cry of the eja kika seller announcing the wares left on her tray. Pretending you aren’t there is a pointless task but I try anyway.
You know me. You know the feel of me. You like the taste of me.
You stand over me, lick every fibre of my being and watch the winds of time take form over the creature that you have moulded. My body awash with your intent responds as you breathe over me, I bow to your will.
You would have me hawk the streets for you if you knew exactly how to sell you. But in a way, I think you do. I feel you bound to me and I know I will eternally call out your name; my unwanted item that is not for sale.