BROKEN.

He came bearing gifts

Spinning rhetorics with his plastic smile

I stood in the midday sun

Apathy and fatigue etched in my face

The man in white agbada was talking 

His litany of promises made me sick

A group were holding up his posters, chanting support

I examined them in amusement

Frail-looking old women

Young, jobless men

Hoarse voices and rumbling stomachs

My face fell as I saw Okoro

The shame and the memories came flooding in

Of feeling bloated and having strange cravings

Of innumerable ultrasound scans saying the same thing

Of countless beatings from my step-mother and name-calling

Of the race from the abortionist's table

Of seven months of loneliness and eventual loss

I looked at the man and then at Okoro

'Evil people!' I stopped short of screaming

I was a naive damsel, eyes filled with laughter

Okoro showered me with gifts and attention

He said I was his angel and it sounded funny

After months of wooing, I went to his house

Once inside, he bolted the door

I sat a safe distance from him

After drinking the juice he served me, I felt woozy

I woke up on his bed, feeling sore

I looked for something, anything, to cover my nakedness

There was blood on the sheets

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015.