taking care of business – by Brian Obiri-Asare
ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY
my homie would get lost staring at the sun
until it burned his eyes out until
his noir turned into a metaphor
a moonless charcoal a night
skinned trip until the only way was up
when he got back to work in flames
but he didn’t have no strength to set
things right again and again to wait
for words to bring sweet sweet closure
just for a dollar when the chorus
in his heart needed to sing like in the Kanye West
song we used to pump at lunch when we worked doubles and
when we got back around to mopping up piss
with so much 808 vision
like the security cameras outside
our only hope changing adult nappies
was a lie we couldn’t get down with no more
real talk it does none of us no good
to stay inna
divided city too long and
when my homie fucked off to Darwin to stretch
out his visa and mum needed help with rent
I stayed put don’t get me wrong but –
I’m loyal like that never forgot the vision
I just couldn’t stop
making sure everyone took their pills and believing
even when the face peeking through
the curtain said can you turn
the music down? still feeding geriatrics mush
even when the face said you’re not busy
are you? standing in the shower
still washing Mrs. Baker the face said
fasterfasterfaster! still where are you
really from? and even when you look ethnic today
the white face said I’m calling the police
I’m going to tell them there’s an African man! threatening
my life! with a knife!
still wheeling Mrs Baker out
into the sun where there’s always danger of distortion
that’s what mum says if you keep
looking through somebody else’s sunnies
and so when I get lost staring at the sun
my noir it turns into a simile
like I’m trying to pretend to be well-adjusted
because I don’t have like the strength to
bask in like any more light ▼
Image: Carlosy Francisca - Wikicommons
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