Dog Days are Shitty Days

Everyday is the same. I wake up in the darkness. I debate whether I truly want to be at work today. Even in the shower, I am lost in thought as the cold water rains down my belly puckering up every pore. I’m developing a pot belly. Weird considering how I barely eat these days. I throw on whatever clothes my hands touch first then I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out. I try to avoid the landlord as much as I can because I skip out on scrubbing the bathroom. The co-tenants complain because they saw my girlfriend using it once and think I’m married and hiding it. Sometimes I lope to the railway which is a few hundred metres away. When I’m late (which is most of the time) I take my time to walk to the bus stop, if you can even call it that. The taxis have taken over the place and forced the trosky drivers to park in the middle of the road. The police who come there sometimes sack them, most other times they just look on; their pallid reflective shirts making them look awkward in the fray.

Sometimes I listen to music. Anything to distract me from the gnawing pain in my heart. It’s like an unsettling itch. It was warm and pulsing, like something has moved from its rightful position. Yeah something has. My girlfriend had just left me for another guy. It was only a matter of time. She blamed me for everything, even her cheating. “You’ve become so distant lately. You don’t even do the stuff you used to anymore.” She wailed over the phone. The stuff she referred to was “gifts”; little wads of cash every other week for her to do her nails and look pretty and stuff. That was the last time we spoke. I could barely tell her anything at all. If I wasn’t talking about her in our conversations she wasn’t interested. The sex barely made up for anything. I’d miss her rump though. She was pear shaped and her derriere could move mountains. A memory of me stabbing away as she bounced up and down in my dingy room when she came over flitted through my mind. I sighed and switched playlists. I’ve developed a taste for loud electronic music. The more tingly the sound, the better.

I probably have the worst of luck. I hardly ever get a good enough trosky to work. Between being perched on the spare tyre or cramped up in the back seat while a stout old lady or cantankerous man spread themselves in the desired edge seat. In the trains, I’d most often stand throughout the journey to my stop. I shouldn’t complain about that but it gets to me every time. I loathe it when the trosky drivers decide to take the untarred shortcuts in a bid to outrace other troskies for more passengers. They jarred my bones and made my cramped plight even more pitiful. I’d dream of owning a car but I don’t even know how to drive. All the potential driving license money going down one frizzy haired drain. Or used to.

The morning traffic on the ride to work could be interesting. Coupled with the music banging on my ear drums I’d see things and imagine them as pictures or poems in my mind’s eye. Even when my eyes watered from the pain from the metal frames pressing against my shins or kneecaps I’d look out the window. I try to keep as much change as possible because the thieving mates never lost an opportunity to increase the fare or withhold small change any chance they got. Never mind the unwashed bodies and smelly armpits, those coins are invaluable to me. Their unpredictability was the one thing predictable about them. Looking out sometimes gave away the newest trends in town. Big shiny billboards with all sorts of nonsense scrawled on them; the religious ones anyway. The new buildings with their colourful alucobond frames looking like something out of a Lego movie were particularly interesting. Most of them had the ubiquitous “Space to let” sign draped over their sides. Space which I’d have to sell my kidney to rent for a couple of months.

The new apartment signs rankle me the most. Shiny building blocks with nice views and astronomical prices. Certainly not worth me busting a spleen. I take careful note to see my favourite hated billboard. Hers. Yeah, she modelled for this herbal toothpaste thingy and they loved her for it. For me it was the beginning of the end. Her dimpled smile winked at me, reminding me of how her overnight popularity and need to look the part took her further away. She wasn’t even paid a dime for the billboard. I sighed heavily and thought of work. Work was in a cramped office space in downtown Accra. I worked as head of outdoor services. It’s just a fancy name for delivery boy. We delivered sanitary items to hotels and corporate offices all over. I’m only the head because I can’t drive. Too smart for my boss to let me go and too desperate to demand a higher wage, I feel stuck here often. All I do is stamp and verify all day; stamp and verify.

My boss is an asshole. She was a portly woman in her late forties. Never married and always had a scowl on her face. She strung insults from her thin lips like toothpaste being squeezed dry. Every conversation with her had a dollop of biblical verses in them. I suspect she really hopes to get married. We break every Wednesday because she goes to midweek service at one of the churches in the neighbourhood. Every third Friday of the month was a half-day because she had to go to Kasoa for a special deliverance session from some new-fangled pastor there. She could be pretty if she smiled. I don’t remember ever seeing her smile. Her attitude bordered on outright hostility most of the time though.  I always wonder how she kept getting clients. News through the grapevine said she got her best clients from gay people and regularly gave them all sorts of jobs if they came around. All I had to do was listen when the godawful music from the radio in her office went very high. Judging by its frequency when we had female clients visiting, I think it’s true.

The pay stinks. I’ve come close to quitting so many time but my mom tells me to stay “because there are no jobs anymore.” The ex-girlfriend used to take up half the amount every month. I remember having to deal with money launderers because she wanted an iPhone 7 for her birthday. I still haven’t been able to pay off that debt. The scars crisscrossing my potbelly remind me every time it gets cold. Rent and food and transportation take up the rest. I don’t remember the last time I saw my friends or went to the movies or had a drink. It’s virtually impossible to. I subsist every single month. Most of the time I look good so my poverty hardly shows on my face. My mom (bless her soul) brings me new clothes every month from when she goes shopping for things for her boutique. I haven’t been to church in forever. I’m just too tired from working six days a week. I need money. Trouble is I need money to make money

I have a dream. My dream is to be a photographer. My friends who are into it are making some serious dough I think. I see it on Instagram sometimes. Seeing the smiling pretty girls I’m hardly ever going to talk to was nice sometimes. Going on social media drains whatever credit I manage to buy on my phone so I keep it to a minimum. It’s also a good check so I don’t see the ex’s smiling visage splattered everywhere. I hate those motivational and religious whatsapp BCs which circulate round. I just turn off my data so I hardly ever see all that BS.  I miss the sex. Those moments were the only true distraction I had. I’d let go as we drummed away, sweaty palms tracing her curves and tickling her back. I remember the taste of her mouth and the way she wound her waist as we congressed on the wall. She rose pale in the light streaming in from the streetlight as we wordlessly made love over and over again. We never used any protection even when she was cheating on me. Forgive me. It’s the only thing I have any appetite for. I wouldn’t eat my toffee in its wrapper. I pushed the door to the office open and set my bag down.

Stamp and verify. Stamp and verify. Ten hours later I picked up my bag and stole out of the office. If you don’t leave quietly my boss would make you stay in till she was ready to go home. She usually leaves at nine pm. I don’t fancy being trapped in a building with that hag any longer than I have to. Travelling back home is my favourite part of my shitty routine. There’s a tranquil beauty that sets in the city after five pm. I’d listen to my heartbreak music while letting my mind drift in the kilometres being eaten away. I would not have that pleasure this evening. My phone buzzed and I lifted it to my face. In the quasi darkness of the trosky a single text message notification illuminated my face. “I think I’m HIV positive.”

I screamed.

© Sena Frost ‘17

image courtesy google images

 

Careful, Son

This is inspired by some early morning banter by friends. I tried to keep it real. Fugly Mofos, thanks!

Careful son
Don’t come at me like you mad at yo daddy
I am yo pappy
Come here son
Smoke some poppy
Lemme tell you something son
The world holds no favours
Come see conquer
Get yo own chocolate factory Willy Wonka
Give it away cos life ain’t about riches
Don’t give it away
Stay away from them bitches
Careful son
If you lay with dogs you rise with fleas
Scrub yo self and wear some fleece
A hater see you he flees
Scared of yo shadow
They freeze
Envy begets lust
Lust gonna dig you a grave like vengeance
Leave it to the Lord
No occult séance
Rest in knowledge like science
Just keep yo head down son
You don’t need nobody
Either they support or you rise alone
Yo friends ain’t yo friends if they can’t be real
Bring you in like fish on a reel
When you going wrong
If they only witchu when you get yo money
Then you need new friends
Fuck day 1
If they don’t help yo one day
Drop them on the wrong side of the one way
Get high like steam
Pushing that locomotive
They see you they go choo choo
You ain’t stopping
Cos the night train rides for the right brain
Careful son
Don’t look down on yo self
Just remember
You ain’t no god
All men must die
Valar Morghulis
Build yo castle
Raise the portcullis
Be modern
Work medieval
That means long tables and laughter throughout the night
Don’t do little and talk more
Be a giver
Ready to take somebody outta fright
Don’t do it for fame
Not riches
Do it cos it right and you loves what  you do
Not for bants or nothing else
People gonna come for you
Yes men
Oliver Twist
Vampires
Leeches that wanna drink yo blood
Let them taste nothing but yo success
When they come to you
Let them talk about how you opened their minds not their breeches
Sealed the breaches
Showed them love not bitches
I love you son
I always gotchu
Stay strong
Stay bold
And when yo can’t go on no more?
Sink on your knees and pray
Rise like the sun
Be good
Be God
Be careful son

© sena frost ‘17
Father & son
Image courtesy google images

A Twin Story

I knew a pair of twins once
Fair and bewitching 
Witty and full of charm
They were alike in many ways but one
They were as like day and night 
While I was drawn to the dark night
The day bright was no less delightful 
We had many talks 
While the day wove her tales of light 
The night spoke of stars bright 
Alas 
I fell in love with them both 
And in the trouble of choosing either 
I ended up with neither 
For as I pondered and floundered
They met strangers in their ceaseless wander 
Full of wonder 
The day went with the warm sun 
And the night kissed the moon man
Poor me!
And with my heart rent asunder
I looked at them from afar 
Unable to speak
But seeing them full of joy
I smiled a tear streaked smile 
And wondered where all the time went 
Because I miss them terribly 
~ Bluebird & Pee

Image courtesy Pinterest 

© Sena Frost 2k17

Untitled 9

I have never felt as much pressure to make something of myself as I do now. I realize I do not want to join the higher education and employment mill. I also realize I am not as feral as I think I am to break the mold yet. The only thing I can do is write. If you feel like you’re sinking with all the dead-weight of broken promises then this rant is probably for you. If you mind your own business and keep slugging away, maybe one day we will escape this harsh reality.

At least that’s what I think

1

My eyelids flickered open

It was dark

The familiar dark

I let out a sigh and shuffled off my pallet

My feet crept

Searching for my slippers

2

The piss streamed into the bowl

Clinking gold against the clear porcelain

Morning wood handily tucked away

I yawned

Bucket in hand to join the queue

It was mercifully short

3

I dunked my head with water again

It chilled me

Again and again

My skin was numbed

But my eyes smarted from lather

Oh what a bother!

4

I spied the clock

As I straddled the stool

The brush scrubbed merrily

The worn leather smiling with crowfeet

I buckled on my belt

And spied the clock

5

Tro-tro rumbling through my favourite music

Standing at the main gate so Elton the guard would wave me in

Pushing paper

Feeling the angst building up in my throat

Almost like the boil throbbing on my badly shaved chin

Another day flies by

6

Jostling against bodies

As I tighten my grip on my phone

Tro-tro rumbling through my favourite music

As my phone flickers with notifications

I trek the last mile home

All peace and music

7

Something more than this

I want it

A splash of colour staining the dour days

A glimmer of gold stealing through the doorways

I feel a lot of things

Lost when the preacher is on the radio

8

Angry when mama calls to split my pay check

Powerless when I have to join the queue

I don’t phone anybody anymore

I feel tired

But then how do you get tired from doing nothing?

9

Maybe I can try again

Face the sun with my skinny chest pouted

And a paunch which doesn’t reflect the belt it swallows whole

Maybe I will find joy

Because I grate my teeth

Baring them at enemies hidden in the dark

10

The familiar dark

I am fighting

In a cage

I am in a never-ending queue

My dreams

I leave them in the dark

11

Sometimes they grin through the worn leather; crowfeet and all

I burst out into laughter sometimes

She likes the way I laugh

Says it’s like Christmas lights in June

But I hardly do that anymore

Always grim

12

Sometimes I dream

That there is an eagle on my shoulder

Yet I am the eagle

Then my eyelids flicker open in the dark

The familiar dark

I burst into laughter

13

Victim

Hero

Villain

All that bullshit

Whatever the fuck I am

I am alive

14

While I am still

Unbroken

I believe

A splash of colour staining the dour days

Will happen soon

A tingle of excitement ridges my spine when I think like that

15

I sleep

Dreaming of women with toothy smiles and wild mango breasts

And thatched pussies

Slow dancing while I slip between their brush and pluck their succulent fruits

I wake to queues of pisspots lining the path to fame

And people drinking readily from them

16

Life is one moment for me

Push paper

Work

Whine and fuss

And when I get home and sleep and wake

Repeat

17

I feel like a rock perched on a mountain

And I gave shelter

Who shelters the rock in a storm

When it thunders and crackles lightning

Under the purple skies

I landslide into ignominy when they aren’t looking

 

18

I feel fear

Wetting my pants

The pungent smell of shitting myself is a nightmare

I hobble when bowel pangs tear at me

Lest I make it a public spectacle

I will die of brittle pride

 

19

Fuck it

I will make it

More than anything

Even if life is showing me the middle finger

When I do the things I love I will be happy

At least that’s what I think

© Sena Frost 2k17

 

Daughter Of Man

 

Daughter of man

Blessed with a bosom capped with twin peaks

Emblazoned with dark tipped nipples

Lancing into my mouth

Jousting with the thrust of my tongue

Take me up into you
Take me into the place they call sin

The enclave hushed up by the priests

That none may speak freely of

That place

Where kings shorn themselves of their crowns

Take me into the place

Where Samson gave away his strength

Envelop me with your nether lips

That warm embrace the hedonist never forgets

 

Daughter of man

Blessed with a derriere so bountiful

Juggled by the sway of your hips

Lay me on your altar of gold

Pierce me with the dagger of your eyes

Wash me with the taste of your lips

Even as the fire of my loins burns

Erecting the tower of my pride

Babel reaching for the stars

Despite the flush of my cheeks

Teach me the ways of your castle

That I may lay my life down to defend it

 

Daughter of man

Adorned in the skin of the bronzed sands

Touched with the obsidian of the night

Caressed with the haze of a snowstorm

Let me into your infinite wetness

The ocean pacific of sweet loving

Animate my desire in your well of creation

So I can unlock the secrets of life

Hidden within the palaces of pleasure welled up in you

 

Daughter of man

Allow me to rappel those twin peaks

So I may embrace their dark tipped cupolas

Winding down like an acrobat

Let me overturn your mound

Tending the sweet spot

Of pleasure tendrils convulsing the cradle that is your body

In the throbbing of my need

Or the unwound coils of your want

In night or day

In the beginning and forever more

And at the height of our pleasure

We become like

God

 

© Sena Frost 2k17

image courtesy opinionatedmale.com

anamnesis

i.

My eyes flick open

In the darkness

I lay there

Listening to the sounds

The guttural whine of stomachs emptying

The grindstone whirs

Muscled into

Revolutions per minute

Gyrating to

Steady kinetic energy

Centrifuging

From the thoughts

Of

The makers

 

ii.

the day sparks into being

being alive

maybe it’s just a dream

I wield an ax

Still in the dark

No, it’s not all dark

There’s some sun

Sifting through the bars of the too small window

But just enough

To know that

I see

I’m alive

 

 

iii.

The handle is rough in my hands

Hewn clumsily

yet skillfully balanced

I swing

Feel the muscles ripple

In response to

Synapses crackling

Terabytes of data

Shooting in an instance

A single arc of

Motion

The doors clank open

 

iv.

I hear them first

As I shuffle in the semi darkness

Right hand firmly planted on the wall

It pulsates

From the stamping of feet

The slice of metal on metal

Climbs above the din

Grunts

The scratch of well-balanced gaits

Locked in a dance in the sands

Chop

Then a roar

 

v.

I am fettered

The cool metal clinks around my waist

My left leg bound

To a ball

My hands

My hands are free

But only just

Chains snake from my forearms

To my ax handle

I can move

In a clumsy man’s shuffle

 

vi.

Blinded

The searing pain

Sets my pores ablaze

The sun

White

My wrists smoulder

As

My chains burn

Etching themselves into my skin

My eyelids flicker

 

vii.

He strikes first

Instinctively I parry

Then dig my heels in

There is a whoosh

As he swings

Too wide

I duck and jab

Into his solar plexus

A heavy grunt

Then there is sand in my eyes

I hear his feet shift

The ground shakes

From the stomping

I am fettered

He swings

Too wide again

I dance away

And swing

An arc curving upwards

I slice

Through skin and bone and sinew

Warm blood kisses my feet

Then there is the roar

 

viii.

The greater good is a necessary evil

It forces men to think outside themselves

For the ultimate pride

We are but playthings

Discarded when we are broken

Cut down in the bloom of youth

Or old and frail and degenerate

If they try to linger

Maybe one day we will know God

Perhaps not

The cool water washes it away

Everything

Leaving not a scar

Of the day

 

ix.

I am unbound

And a brand

White hot

Is held to my cheek

I scream

Not that it matters

A chuck of spit crowns my head

Accompanied by

A flurry of rotten vegetables

And old man’s urine

I see their eyes

Little pools of judgement

And a sadness

Burning behind

Everything

They are sunken in belief

Of everything but themselves

The curses

Smiting my ears

If only they worked

 

x.

The pain!

It cuts through my back

The whip cracks

Agony!

Oh pain

Sweet unceasing pain

After a while

I feel nothing

Smell nothing

Taste nothing

But the coppery tang of blood in my mouth

I see red

As I am jolted to my feet

Everything fades away

White noise

Nothing matters

It breaks you down

Every time you wake

The ultimate savage

Rendering equality as myth

Life

I am weary

Broken

I am alone

A recollection

Of what was

My eyes shut close

Into darkness

 

©_sena_frost ‘17

 

Old-Man Logan-Wolverine, X-Men. Marvel Comics

image courtesy google.com

 

 

LIFE CYCLES

RAINSTORMS

THE PASTOR’S VOICE ON THE RADIO

HAS NEVER CHANGED.

NOT ONCE IN THIRTY YEARS

WE SIMPLY JUST GREW UP.

 

IT IS OUR TURN

TO REPEAT OUR PARENTS’ MISTAKES

AND STEAM IN THE

HOTBLOOD

OF OUR YOUTH.

 

THE FERRIS WHEEL ROTATES

REACHING INTO THE SKY

ONLY TO STOP AT THE EARTH

SO WE CAN CLIMB OUT

AFTER SEEING HEAVEN.

 

WE WILL GROW

WITH REGRETS

OF HOW WE THREW CHANCES AWAY

IN THE NAME OF LOVE.

 

ALL THIS WHILE

THE PASTOR’S VOICE ON THE RADIO

HAS NEVER CHANGED.

NOT ONCE IN THIRTY YEARS

IT RAINS

 

A VIOLENT RUCKUS

BLACKS OUT THE PRESENT

IN THE GLOW OF A LAMP

WE SLEEP WITHOUT.

 

THIS WORLD KEEPS CHANGING

ONLY BECAUSE WE ARE GROWING INTO IT

IT IS OUR TURN

TO REPEAT OUR PARENTS’ MISTAKES.

NOTHING HAS CHANGED.

 

RAINSTORMS

A VIOLENT RUCKUS

HOT BLOOD

IN THE NAME OF LOVE

THE PASTOR’S VOICE HAS NEVER CHANGED.

 

_SENA_FROST ‘17