Apart from your charming hair and ebony skin,
one other thing that attracted me to you was your English which defied the Queen’s.
‘Driver, driver! A tyre has busted,’ you said, staring at me like I were the
driver or some Messiah. The motor swerved and our bodies collided. Like you
wanted me to confirm your prowess, ‘a tyre has busted!’ You yelled again. The
word you meant, I had heard iridescent pronunciations of it: beasted, bested, and
busted, like yours. So my surprise was little.
I looked into your eyes, seeking fright, but
fire-flies burst light of love and I knew I had busted my busty babe. When the
bus stopped, you smiled like I was offloading honey into your heart as I
whispered, ‘b-u-r-s-t, burst, not b-u-s-t. Remember to always swallow your –ed
at the end of the word.’ Abruptly, your face clouded, rage burst
OLADIMEJI DAMILOLA.
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BUSTED BABE
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