Can I Have McDonalds Instead?

The humid air smelt of the overripe mangoes

squashed at the bottom of its huge tree.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings tangle

to watch the cocks fight in their little ring.

A spree with spurs taped securely to their legs.

Held back by his leash a drooling dog.

Bets flowing from hands like blood water.

Behind hips hides a young girl clasping

hands over her ears, thinking of anything,

but of her friend being torn to shreds.

Shelly, go fill the pot with water.

Fighting the urge to vomit in her mouth.

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The Soloist

The night he limped outside of this life

certain to cleave the burden of chains,

she danced with friends and toasted the room,

clueless to his strain she stayed.

 

Their rhythm was, once, 

a ball change with perfect form, syncopated.

Combined heartbeats–

their music to quiet the storm.

 

Through his veins a beat pumped:

solo, solo, solo.

He took to a stage furthest from home

to save her from his blood red moon.