SST9 BeaBop Final Draft – Carnival Queen of Fights

2 Jul

She senses that I am watching

I am crouching tiger,
Hiding my aggression.
She is my Queen.
Queen of fights.
Queen of the carnival.

I try connecting my thoughts with hers.
She jolts and
A fountain of feathers
Spews twelve feet high
From two dimples at the base of her back
Shielding me from her nurturing rhythms.

I remember in HD how
I would lord all of my yesterdays
Along her undulating vertebrae.
Cusses, flinging
Acid from my mouth
Taunted her to glitter
Like schizophrenic sparkles
Tussled atop

I used to be her masquerade
Bringing messages of expectation
Dressed up in crimped coca-cola tops,
cardboard mâché Ikeji masks
and tricolour ruffled trousers.
She would flirt with my djembe and
Surround my pan-pipe
Band of merry macho-men
Vibrating their pans of steel
Waving opulence at demure crowds
As we marched

Her chariot awaits
Waist wines carelessly her wheeled hooped skirt.
Framing her girdle –
An aluminium corset
Covered in purple batik and red raffia
Into which slots left wing and right
Her right to taunt me in the custardly light

On her right glows her Mas band,
Angels trouped ready
To set firework rhythms.
Stomps pierce the tarmac
And yes,
Now I can feel her vibration
And I feel like marmalade – thick cut.

On her left
I see my spirit jump and wave
Tempted to touch
A body which defined my mood for years.
My masked taunts
Carried along rainbow-veined tendrils
Collapse her soft-skinned sonnets
To feed a cockiness with no soul.


I sense her watching me –
Scraping at my heart
With grooved toes, clenched.
She aims her vibranium-tipped arrow
Knocking me off-balance,
Krumping my spirit.

I have lost our connection.

However her crown
Reigns historic
A rock ruling for equality.
My Queen
My Carnival Queen of Fights.


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