Self Portrait With a Gun at the Back of My Head

the world is a consortium of shameless lots.
society sews clothes for one to wear without

caring if it’s one’s type or if it fits the shoulder –
the other day I walked past those men, I could

swear they loved how I greeted, how I was
mute to their loud gazes and silent words but

I was said to have bitten from my mother’s intestine
after I asked one of them why he smokes at 55.

The other day I sent a picture to Martha,
she said I was her type: tall, dark and eloquent.

until Mary encouraged her to ask what I earn.
It marked the end of what was about to begin-

now, I’m to forgive one who hurt me yesterday
because they can die before dawn, why not

preach death to them before they cut my peace
into two? and I’m just a man, not better than them.

Tomide Abdul