Words| Liquor’s letter.

I’m not your average substance abuse,

I’m not your ordinary drink to use,

You sip, you drink,

Drown me inside you till you realize am not your average league,

See how your social status reeks,

See how your breath and clothes stink,

See how your wallet leaks,

But the strong desire to drink is your utmost as you wake up and sleep.

Don’t even think of your perfect balance and catwalk, you drink you can’t walk,

You sip you slip, and into a ditch till tomorrow’s sunrise hits,

You still think we are friends?

I warned you in the adverts, in the class six science lessons, and in my packaging label,

But my curves and figure of liquor, my cold refreshing smell and taste will trigger,

Once that bottle opener parted with my crown and down I was poured into a glass where we stared at each other.

Baba watoto’s salary, NO MORE

Mama watoto’s salary, NO MORE

Watoto’s school fees, NO MORE

Yeah we are friends,

See the courage I gave you to approach her,

See the number of women we sleep with,

See the amount of money we spend on each other,

Oh! And see the level of highness and happiness,

Your whole body longs for the effect you can’t reject,

When your hands tremble and shake, and skin starts to sweat,

You know you hid some of me under the bed.

But when you substitute me with water and Coca-Cola,

I get jealous and unleash my charms of addiction,

It’s not fair; you came to me begging for freedom from your noisy wife, and to have a fun time,

Now tables turn, I kill your brain cells, and still put you in prison cells,

Coz of beating your wife and abusing your children,

Eat your liver like Nairobi River, till you stare at hospital ceilings and can’t manage the billing,

Hoping for a Harambee from the community,

The same community affected by your talented noise making late past midnight, featuring your wife, oh! Sorry, your ‘punching bag’ of wails and screams like the ambulance that came after and carried what was left of her,

You can’t catch me with all that staggering, blood shot eyes, slurred speech,

I’m high maintenance, yeah am so intense I spoil your future tense, and make you a past tense,

But at this present tense, get to know my consequence.

                                                     Yours Truly,

Your nigger, your Liquor.


David Inyoung


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