Poetry Bulawayo

The outlet opens a little Against the copious flood Stridently, I shout through the closing door “Please help!” The water level rises and rises, unabated  “Help me, please help, I cannot open the door!” My last lexis before I am swept off my feet I breathe my last Darkness! Impenetrable darkness engulf me Heart freezes, breathing stops Eyes roll out as my feet become numb Lights of the earth fade away And my spirit bellows!  “Is it beautiful out there?” Riotous silence Exit! I leap over the Rubicon Looking back Pallbearers and mourners Watch over my lifeless body, As family, finances, pleasure All the things I treasured I have left behind Reflections of  heaven and the angels Bright orange lights do allure me. What about hell, The place reserved for evil doers? Impregnable luminosity! Drawn to it like a magnet In manifestations of life and death

Every month or so on a Sunday afternoon I skip the football game and get in my truck and drive out from the city into farm country to visit Miss Carol and get my hands on her plump dumplings. Biggest I've ever seen. Best I've ever had, terrific with her legs and thighs. When she lays out  her chicken dinner   on that white tablecloth I start drooling before I even get a hand on it. A farm girl, she says  she's never met  a man like me so nuts am I about her dumplings. Usually, she says, men like breast meat, when it's moist, and I allow how I like that as well but not as much  as her plump dumplings on a Sunday afternoon and her pluperfect legs and thighs