Sunday at the Movies

by Divine Angubua

In black box, shadow man come

come,

Stinking up place like drug,

Like wind from hell

From whence I came

gripping me,

to get me sleep

So he can do this black body

Real right for its black shame.

Rock the burnt baby,

on hanging tree top,

He go,

Before, “Will you please put me down,

and drain me right on stove top!”

I say,

Big fag drag a big black bag behind me,

a dead extra paw in it, 

The weight of my shadow in it. 

I want rest this locked jaw.

Droopy me,

don’t drop me,

eye loopy. 

I poopy

Loopy, I 

pinch, I bite,

I try stop breathing,

Try big smiling, 

Is it work,

He now lodged in my throat

He now climbed up,

He now buzz-buzz scratch scrape in my brain

Well.

Where to look

droopy like tomato plant

in peace. Yawning in black box,

and ruin everyone show,

how I snore for shadow man, 

and fart, weep, wet bloody bed,

As they cheer 

bright breasted flesh in glass box

without me.

Why won’t you look at me young man?

Flesh ask, jerking in spotlight,

Why won’t you get your life?

But shadow man grip me again,

For I am shadow wife 

Pulled under,

Before I can say,

tongue waving,

“I’m doing the best I can.”