By Lilian Wairimu
As he sits,
Shaping his lips to an imagined love heart,
His head droops down
Down; is it the heavy thoughts?
Or the drink before him,
Stretching his hand,
A snap of his fingers
To showcase that he is part of the conversation;
Head; too heavy
Heaviness, a concept too familiar
Or is it a stranger that knocks often;
Here we go again;
Rollercoaster it is,
My ticket cannot go to waste, he convinced himself:
I am a man; I sire humans; I am a man.
Last thoughts as he pukes his mind away,
A gentle hand rubbing his back…
Be strong, it will be well
The gentle whispers reach his ears;
“One more drink!” The whisper turns to a shout,
Rubbing, offering, sense of security?