₦airaland Forum

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SLAY QUEEN EVENTUALLY


Life, like an old man, in his wheel chair, pot of cigar hangs in the corner of his mouth, cap tipped over as he observes... Sighs.
She's the slay Queen, as she says, so she is. Slay mama, slays... The killer.

She befriended Chris, who lost the job that took the fool twelve years to find, she laid with Akin, who she instigated, spent his inheritance on alcohol, clubs, parties, and hotels, he eventually turned a street boy with the junkies doing crack, you took Alhaji Mustapha away from his two wives and nine kids, and the slowpoke eventually smashed himself against a low bed at Majidun bridge in a haste to catch up with your nagging. Juliet, she’s twenty four, first daughter of a widow, final year student of business administration, now on Toyin street trading “self” for few thousands and a couple of pinches of “Whites,” she only met you twenty four weeks ago.

Slay Queen, skin as ripe as plantain's, lashes heavy as lid, nails as long as pencil, tummy folds all over, full of fat from junk. You remind me of rotten water watermelon, slay Queen.

Eventually, you'd slay yourself too, and we shall say; ashes to ashes, dust to dust, slay to slay, and Queen is dead, and the earth shall rest. Yes, rest.





©Cyrus O. Jesunifemi



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