Friction Poem by Victor Okechukwu Anyaegbuna

I work in blind alleys
Where you play the play.
Your joy lubricates the path
That my labour cleans up
And my pains welcome new life
With a predictable shrill cry.

I get all the slaps and kicks
While in your tension and anxiety
You sniff hard at atmospheric air
And puff at smokeless cigars
You never learnt in your sane moments.

I never said you were bonkers
But on the streets of our anarchy
Where every roadside space
hosts dismantled engines and tyres;
Labourers in dirty frocks
stained by black oil
so parade their pride of skill and labour
that the insane parade unnoticed
till they sort the bins in scary soliloquy.

Your anxieties define my skill
As I sweat in tension and unease
Sparing my brain no effort or whim.
My muscles ache and scream in protest
But my heart only races to brace the fight
That no effort will be spared
Save I die before my dog hacks off
The turkey's neck and dares to feast
On its blood and flesh, even as it sends
Feathers flying across all land and space.

My tailoring skills manifest
As I put together again the tunnel
To restore and even increase
The sweetness when again
You play the play wanting more.
The gaping gash vanishes
To restore blind alleys of fun;
In your joys, don't deny my fees.