​HAUNTING A GIGOLO

Since age knocked its understanding tag

In my infantile brain

I was given a telescope

Whose only visions were of the past

A telescope which killed the zeal of laughter

Planting in its stead a vile rage for revenge

Watered by society’s hails at my target

And its many chains of laws for my kind


II

Like a bull with a target

I charged at a decade and eight

Towards a fine breed of its demigods

Pouring all the gold of my ancestry at his feet

And disrespectfully asking that he worked his waist

Into my pleasure into my treasure

At my leisure


III

His teeth showed a blessed awakening

And like a goat, he held my coat of cloth

The dark little hut which stood in the compound of many

Promised me no privacy

The bed’s posture whispered a higher creaking

A pound and another and another and another

My resolution, no tears, no show of pain

Until he lost his all and started to call to be saved

I envisaged his shame!


IV

An hour and a half

My energy grazed out

My field had turned muddy

My little opening had been manholed

His screams for my well being pushed the listeners in

What they saw brought in society’s law

Burying me in the shoes of my wronged ancestry

With the antonym of a gigolo

Planting trees always loses to waterers, I guess

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © November 14, 2017

Photo Credit: Google pics.

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