The town's a little girl
Rotten to her core
Hawking her secrets
To the public

I see her, everyday
Fiddling with the miscreants
Rubbing the wrinkled noses
Of sensible people in mud

For what can they do?
They stare, beaten
By her sheer arrogance
Pummeled to cowardice

The stench of the rot
Hits my nostrils
Like a giant's fist
I tumble in shock

The town's a little girl
Grown men lick their lips
Whistling in endearing tunes
And drum curses after use

She stands confused, a tool
The belt buckle came off
Ushering in pleasure hmms
Only to be beaten to move

She stands in hell, unburned
Begging to be saved
But not her feet
Which she planted on greed

I see her at Five junction
In underage hawkers
Their wares on shaky heads
But their arms are meant to beg

I see her in the town hall
Where experience teaches in vain
And white hairs know not it
In foolishness, she's ingrained

The town's a little girl
Who must be woken up
Because her clock ticks
And nature is punctual

She must become a woman
Her womb must be her saviour
Motherhood her Holy Grail
Her legs in one path; equity

The town's a little girl
And we must teach her
To be one, and to fetch water
For her growth


© Jigs Lionheart

Head-n-Heart


“Two briefs,” Endie said, panting, taking a second between words, “that’s what’s missing, ma.” If you had just walked into the shop at that minute, you would have thought she had just completed a 100m race and had chased Tobi Amusan’s record whilst trying to complete a task the simple task of taking stock of the underwear section of the small boutique.

“Thank you, Endie,” Mrs. Abotu said, seated on a chair on the side, and with a slight wave of a hand, dismissed her 15 years old sales worker and turned to face the other one who was twice the age of the small girl. “Start talking na, Johwo. Where did the briefs go?”

Johwo, a chubby 30 years old woman stood close to the entrance of the shop, her leggings looking like they’d rip off on her while the loosely fitted blouse on her seemed too tight. She intertwined her fingers as she spoke.

“Madam, truth to God, I never sell boxers since morning,” she said.

“I am not asking you if you sold. Where are they?” Mrs. Abotu asked.

“Truth to…”

“Shut up!” Mrs. Abotu said. “You Johwo! You…” and she caught herself, turned to Endie and sent her on a needless errand, and continued, “You don’t want to be wise? What’s wrong with you?”

“Madam…”

“You’re 30 for God’s sake! You have a child! I already overpay you! Endie is 15 and does the job better than you when I let her handle it. I don’t need you but I keep you anyway. What else do you want, Johwo?”

“Truth…”

“You’re mad!” She stood up and walked towards Johwo, “You’re mad. Johwo, you’re a fool! And you think I am a fool?! You think I didn’t count the things I’m selling because I buy them many? You don’t think I mind my business because I let you be present?! You’ll rather pay me back with evil despite all the good things I have done for you?! Answer me Johwo!”

“Nor vex, madam,” Johwo said, bending her knees for a second. “I know say you know book and you be graduate, but madam, you sure say you nor make mistake? I never sell boxers today, truth to God who made me.”

“STOP. LYING. JOHWO.”

“Truth to…”

Mrs. Abotu raised a hand as if to hit the other woman but it ended with just a raised hand, and Johwo flinched. She softened her voice. “Jesus. Stop lying. Clothes miss here all the time, and it only misses when you’re around. I don’t want to pursue you, you won’t get another job that will sufficiently take care of your daughter and you want to wreck it and go out of employment? Does it make sense, Johwo? Or do you think you have enough skill to land a job that pays you thirty thousand and weekly pocket money? What exactly is the color of your problem? You know what? Just go home. Think about everything, think about what I’ve done for you, if you have a good heart to, think about your daughter, think about the future, and think about what you want in life. After you’re done, sleep on your decisions. Come and tell me in the morning.”

“You mean make I go house?” Johwo asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, madam. Bye bye.” She grabbed her keys and her small purse, and walked out, sliding shut the door behind her. She knew Mrs. Abotu was watching her from the door, and she had intentionally closed it to make it easy for her.

She knew what happened, she knew where the briefs went, but she couldn’t tell the younger woman she’d learned to call Madam, because she deserved to be called one. The woman was right, she and Ufuoma would be nowhere without the job because she ensured she deducted the school fees from her salary and also ensured they had enough to get by. But love had left her powerless; powerless to repay the good deeds of her employer with at least some security for the goods she sold.

Papa Ufuoma had dragged her to the shop after closing hours yesterday evening and collected two briefs, making his usual empty promises, promises she knew he wouldn’t keep but she took them anyway without saying a word. The man had been more of a destroyer than a helper; impregnated her and left her to fend for herself and the unborn child. After the baby’s birth, it was heard that he’d drunk himself to a stupor whilst celebrating. Her friend, Mrs. Abotu had helped her out and had given her a job that fended for both mother and daughter Papa Ufuoma was being the biggest leech he could be and terrorizing her, and she seemed powerless to do anything about it. Or was it powerlessness or reluctance? She didn’t want to let him go, she knew was a good-for-nothing smiling handsome man with all her buttons, yet. She harbored a tiny fading hope of a turn-around. She didn’t need much from him, just to be responsible.

She had gone in for the night when she heard a light rap on the door. She knew who it was and had anticipated it. She pointed her phone torch at Ufuoma, who lay peacefully asleep on the soft mat she had bought a few months ago since it was a better alternative to the one they had been using. Satisfied, she tiptoed to the door, as quietly as she can, slid open the bolt, and opened the door.

“My J J!” Onos hailed.

“Shhhhhh!” She whispered desperately, a finger across her lips although she knew for certain that the other guy couldn’t see her face.

“Nor vex,” he whispered apologetically, “but I nor fit dey fear my pikin na.”

She turned for a moment, thankfully, Ufuoma didn’t stir. “You go go outside abeg. I wan sleep.”

He touched her hands and she shifted backward. “Wetin happen again?” she asked.

“I wan see my girl na. I nor fit come see my girl again?”

She went out, dragging him along, and backed the door. They continued in hush tones, “Why you dey do like say you nor know wetin you do yesterday?”

He grunted, “na yesterday matter you still dey talk? That one done pass na.”

The audacity, she thought. “You nor know the igbese you put me yesterday? You dey do like dirty pant there. You put me for trouble wey I go face today, you dey tell me say e done pass. Na wickedness be that, if you think say you fit put me for problem and I nor get right to talk about am the day e happen.”

“Small small, JJ,” he said, your voice done dey loud.

She cautioned herself, that raising her voice would be counterproductive. “If nor be say this woman kind, she for done sack me.”

“And so?”

She wanted to hit his head with a pestle but then he felt his breath on her skin, warm and hot. He didn’t give her a chance to warn him of his proximity, he kissed her on the side of her neck, and she felt everything bad she knew about him evaporated. She let out a slight moan and pushed his head closer. She tugged his pants and whispered “shhh”, and pulled him inside. She quietly bolted the door and collapsed on the bed alongside the man who had caught her fantasies all those years ago, the only man she had given her body, the man with whom she had felt secure, the father of her child, the man who was once the bringer of light to her dreams. She knew it was time to get rid of him, and she knew once again, she’d need the help of her friend, the one she call madam. With that in mind, she dipped her hand into his shorts and brought out his manhood, determined to give him her all one more time, and hopefully, for the last time.




© Jigs Lionheart

Ishilove:

So she was on top?

Yup, she was

Cashier's Tale


"If I see you here again, you'll regret it! I don't have to tell you how much I mean it!" The man I'd known all my life as my father said to my mother, his finger dangling inches away from her eyes.

His lifeless voice left a black patch in my head for the next few years. In one minute, Mom and I were back in the streets. I was 13 and in my 2nd year in secondary school. Before this, there was talk of us traveling abroad to continue our lives, it was an exciting prospect. I saw Dad hit Mom, a resounding slap across her face, for the first time in my life, and the next morning, we were homeless. Dad apologized to me, said I would understand in time, that mom had hooked him with pregnancy, and my 2 sisters and I share different fathers, with the two girls belonging to him. I don't think I said anything but cried and told Daddy I didn't want another father.

But that was years ago.

27 years to be exact. The road hadn't been an easy one. Mom's idea of who my father was was a soft-spoken alcohol abuser, who said the meanest things in the calmest way possible.

"My boy, my boy," he said one night, rubbing my head, "your oil-less head." He pulled me closer, and I could smell the alcohol in his nostrils, hitting me like the punch of a boxer, but only didn't knock me out but left me dazed but I stood there. "You are a bastard. You have no luck. You inherited your mother's tardiness. How are you going to go up in the world with a brain like that? It is difficult for us who are men and smart, but you," he shook his head, "you're stupid, my son, stupid."

Another time, he saw me emerge from the bathroom and said, "I sometimes wish scrap pickers like kids. I could make some change off you, you know?"

Another time, he came in and met me on the floor, sleeping. He woke me up. Asked if I was well, I said yes. Inwardly, I was surprised by the change and thought maybe I have a father at last. He then asked if I'd eaten, and I said yes. Then he added, "Feeding you is akin to feeding a useless dog. It won't guard you, it won't play with you, it won't do anything with you but eat your food and defecate around the place. You're a useless dog, my boy."

Then in my 3rd month in his house, he came home one evening. Sat me down and said, "You're not needed. Never. Were never needed. Now, your stupid mother knew that but what did she do? Keep you, give you to someone else. Greedy pig. Now, you're an inconvenience. I wish you would die, you know, accidentally? I'm not going to kill you and won't desist from your upkeep because, in the end, you're my blood. But I wish something would happen to you, you know? Or just run. How about that? I didn't plan for this. So, just disappear from my life if you can. Please."

I made his wishes happen. I disappeared. Picked up my few clothes, and went to seek my mother. There wasn't a phone at the time, so I couldn't reach her. She had vacated her last known address and she had as much as dumped me with my father, whose apparent manliness made her cheat on her boyfriend and ruined the life of her son, and maybe her daughters.

That was 27 years ago.

Today, the door swung open, sending a chime vibrating through the spaces of the mall I'd come to work at for the better part of the past 5 years, and I raised my head from my cubicle to see who the newcomer was. A fair woman probably in her early twenties strolled in. Her blue jeans trouser was ripped on her thighs and her flannel shirt was loosely fitted and its arms folded, exposing her bracelets on one arm and a watch on the other. Her hair was tied into a ponytail, no makeup on her face, and her shiny eyes were the shiniest part of her face besides its glittering skin. She was in a rush, her eyes darting from one shelf to the other. In futility perhaps, because she finally looked my way.

"Where can I..." She trailed off, halting her movement for the first time.

I couldn't picture where I'd seen her prior. But she was familiar. She went white, like blood had suddenly evaporated from her body. "Madam?" I called.

She didn't move an inch and kept staring. I wondered if she'd turned to salt. I waved at her, "Ma?"

"Abel?" She asked.

I sighed. She speaks. Yes. Well, she knows my name, obviously she can read the name tag. Still didn't explain why she froze but that's her business.

"How can I be of assistance, madam?"

"Abel?"

"Yes, ma."

"I can't believe it's you!" She threw her hands up and clutched her chest. "It's you!"

I furrowed my brows, arced my head to one side, and pretended I was thinking. I looked at the tag on the right side of my shirt and then back at her. She seemed to catch on, her eyes widened.

"No," she said, "I'm not in any way referring to the name tag. I know you, that's what I mean."

"Yes, yes, people know me. I've been here for a handful of years."

"Oh, no, you're Abel! My brother!"

I tried to process the new information. My sisters, Martha and Ruth, which one of them could be this? Ruth was an infant the last time I'd seen her. "Ruth?" I asked.

"Yes!" She replied, clapping her hands joyously.

"Ruth?" I called again, unsure of her answer.

"Yes!" She repeated.

"Joseph the daydreamer!" My colleague's voice cut through my dream like a serrated sword. I raised my head from my cubicle to see the cleaner trudge past me, dragging her feet along the floor. She was so short I could see the center of her head from my sitting position. "Don't think of how you'll get married and start a family. Be shouting don't ever get married until your thing stops working."

I shook my head, put my palm through the button of my shirt, and caressed my shirt. Short people won't ruin my life, I thought. "Be calm, man. Be calm," I said to myself, straightening my collar. The shop remained empty. I looked at the time, a few minutes past 3 PM. Before the evening rush, I thought to go back to Dreamland. I adjusted my chair, put my legs on my desk, let my head fall on the top of the chair's backrest, and dreamed away.


© Jigs Lionheart

purples25:


Jigs I'm fine o. What's with laykorn? I can't get a chat with him. Hope you dudes from the poetry group don't have any grudge against me?

No, no grudges at all. Lol
It's been a long time since I heard from Lay. Last I heard from a friend, he's alright.

Therock5555:
JigsawKillah please why did you stop posting. Your stories are amazing...

I'll update this thread soon. Thanks for reading, champ!

purples25:
Jigsaw, going to keep reading. Post more or write your own book. God bless.

Purple! A sight for sore eyes! Thank you.
Hope you're holding your own?

Na where I dey go near, the old man tok
Him siddon cross leg, dey observe the pot
De soup wey dey inside, him fit guess am
De pot foreign, but he say him done taste am
before

Hunger dey wire am, him belle dey rise
Say na compulsory hunger for the mind
Na as him father take pass am shackis
Him pass am to Bomboy, add wackis
Chop, my boy

Man wey wan belleful dey quick wash hand
If not, na empty plate he go meet for grand
To know when to carry leg, na to dey the race
Breeze still dey sing as e dey sing for old days
Hear am, dance


© Jigs Lionheart

This baby fine, she goes well
Some things dey miss but I no send
Na once I slide, she slide too
I start to vibe, she begin vibe too

She kpor me, I be like area
I kpor her, she be like player
I throw leg, like Van Damme
She try dribble, but I be Jaap Stam

I see her shine, I send her passage
She see my style, we begin package
My wallet empty, like her baggage
I clear her, she nor even form savage

She HO digits, I ring am, she bone
I say visit, she say no away or home
We mash am. We plan
E nor tey, we jam

Na wetin I order, na I see
Na as she yarn, na im she be
I give her my word, na im she gree
To combine forests, to be my tree

I dey her back, and she dey follow
Dey combine joy, dey chase out sorrow
And she sharp pass razor blade
If she wan cut me, na one way

Her food small, but I dey wack am
One side na starch, one na Banga
The meat small but no Kanda
Soft but na like kpako I dey knack am

Today, I go skemp her again
Corner her clothes like cellophane
Carry her go heaven, without wings
Dey praise God, dey commit sin

Na my woman she be




© Jigs Lionheart

sageb:


Welcome back Jigs
Nice poem

I didn't really leave though. Thank you!

ShaqFu:
Still rebellious I see, Jigs. 😁😁

I don't think so. I still didn't follow a form though.

I found her on Facebook, her curly hair,
the length matched the playlist she'd share.
In her DMs living bubbles bounced on the walls
ricocheting, bursting into ripples of joy.

Walls of many colors, created with those chats.
Ah. The graffiti mastermind, with my engine, snapped,
shaking my cans, with gripped hands I went to craft,
and painted atop my wheel, the girl with the curls, and black.

The girl with the curls, her shoulders width a male's,
eyes that sweep me into a cold bath on a warm day,
her laughs tug me, about the ease it takes.
Yes, I met her on a sunny day, she fills a vacuum with the calm she rains.

Moist, but firm curls. Like solar lights, they shone in the dark.
Hoisted on solid roots, I prayed my fingers dart through
The chore of chasing a deity like her
is the nirvanic task of fanning that spark.

Spiraling curls, not Medusa's? Yes?
Here's a fib; to elude the stone shift, I knelt
sacrificed to her, a tongue, and a rod,
she ferries me on her ship, that for me, it docks.



© Jigs Lionheart

HAPPY REGGAE


Locks, they hold and twist and turn
They flog, with each stroke the skin will burn
They absorb, the waters that forged forth life
And her thirst is sated after a day of strife

The drums play beside the wild guitar
Bass, to mask where the artists are
So when the sticks and the strings boom
She sings, the loveliest of tunes

HAPPY BLUES



her wind vane blows North;
cheerful howls of glorious trees
from her mouth erupts.