Poetry

By

Echezonachukwu Nduka

Chronicles of Miss Dungworth

A red handbag, fluttering eyelashes

And sounds from stiletto heels

Are mere baits—enticement is sin in heaven

But we live in hell.

Dear Love Doctor:

How does one explain how love’s pain

Pierce? Or how it becomes a balm that

Heals aloneness in the worst manner?

Prescriptions are for the dying.

Two pills are experiments.

Several pills are wrapped goodbyes

With inscriptions for strict adherence:

Once daily

Twice daily

Then death drives in via dark fragrances.

I saved myself after Mr. Willingcock’s last kiss.

Flashback:

At Ellie’s engagement dinner

When time delayed itself—leaving Louis Armstrong’s

Trumpet riffs to count seconds and minutes,

Mr. Willingcock handed me a note:

Forgive me, but mine is unwilling

To crow or cough out more cash.

There is one more love not to die for.

Ours will neither be made in heaven nor hell.

 I am Miss Dungworth,

But I am worth more than dung.

A little patience and you would

See how love is the syringe on the butts

Of the child wailing in Ward 9.

Go, teach all patients how love is the

Pain that heals all wounds.

When love becomes Mr Shufflebottom

Who knocks on my door at odd hours;

I turn off all lights

And sing myself to sin once more.

For life could be a postman with wrong mails.

I am no more than a lady

Bargaining with love—purchasing memories

With lost kisses as a legal tender.

Dear Love Doctor:

Prescriptions are for dying lovers

And lonely souls.

On my bosom, there are two warm rivers to swim.

Taste.

Drink.

Swim.

Echezonachukwu Nduka

Echezonachukwu Nduka is a Nigerian poet and short story writer. His literary works have been published in reputable literary journals and anthologies. He is the Founder & Director at Apotheosis Art House.

Echezonachukwu is currently a postgraduate music scholar in Kingston University London, UK.

He tweets @nduka_echenduka