MISTAKEN
On some nights, your strident laughter cuts through repressed memories & I return to a balmy afternoon in Ife & your lover who shares your name is visiting. The choreography of cooking precedes the thumping of bodies precedes the post-coital, post-prandial laughter chiming. Bless the mischief of memories that still generate smiles. Bless a chance meeting, years after your passing, I ran into your ex-lover at a bachelor’s party & I ran out of things to say to her. Later, at ease in the company of friends, she would laugh that laughter I always mistook as yours.
On some nights, your strident laughter cuts through repressed memories & I return to a balmy afternoon in Ife & your lover who shares your name is visiting. The choreography of cooking precedes the thumping of bodies precedes the post-coital, post-prandial laughter chiming. Bless the mischief of memories that still generate smiles. Bless a chance meeting, years after your passing, I ran into your ex-lover at a bachelor’s party & I ran out of things to say to her. Later, at ease in the company of friends, she would laugh that laughter I always mistook as yours.
The Smoking Gun Dissolves into a Wisp of Memory
(For Jerome)
Like a crime drama film, the life of Lothario begins from the end. The final reel, the final lament, but the smoking gun is not a smoking gun. It is Hadley-Chase’s girl's pout & the wobbly montage assumes the dizzying colour of waist beads. The symbolism of that cruel fatalism, the inevitable happens before the premonition is registered. How do you overcome the fallen beads impeding your flight? Your head hits concrete like a red pout an intended kiss becomes a hiss. The smoking gun dissolves into a wisp of memory of the beaded floor, blood-red tracing out a flower. The soft unmistakable music of the DJ set blends Idibala with Shedibalabala. You return to Idi-Araba inside a Wande Coal tune purring from a UK-used iPhone 11 sitting in a Hermes bag next to Oogun Adodun bought from a Facebook Group apothecary.
(For Jerome)
Like a crime drama film, the life of Lothario begins from the end. The final reel, the final lament, but the smoking gun is not a smoking gun. It is Hadley-Chase’s girl's pout & the wobbly montage assumes the dizzying colour of waist beads. The symbolism of that cruel fatalism, the inevitable happens before the premonition is registered. How do you overcome the fallen beads impeding your flight? Your head hits concrete like a red pout an intended kiss becomes a hiss. The smoking gun dissolves into a wisp of memory of the beaded floor, blood-red tracing out a flower. The soft unmistakable music of the DJ set blends Idibala with Shedibalabala. You return to Idi-Araba inside a Wande Coal tune purring from a UK-used iPhone 11 sitting in a Hermes bag next to Oogun Adodun bought from a Facebook Group apothecary.
BIO:
Dami Ajayi is the author of three volumes of poems including Affection & Other Accidents, his latest.
