Frantic Beats

 Papa walks in; his face– like his gray shirt is

neat.

I look into his dark eyes, they hold mine—

empty.

My head croons behind his. I hear only

nothing.

The indigo polo I'm wearing is hiding my stomach's

rumble.

My eyes step gayly to his face again; it's starting to

stretch.

Before I can confirm, his head bows and rises

severally.

Next, his lips are bending upward, his teeth

bare.

Without waiting for his words, my feet begin 

clanging

Clanging faster than my heart's drum, as I go

further.

I send the white door on a break, and it's when I

hear

the faint cackle of crying, from a source I will guess.

My mind doesn't bother with the hundred nights of lost sleep

coming.

For now, it's giddy, as I plunge towards my younger self.

© Balogun Ayoola Joseph