Ménage a Trois

Man: It was evil.
Woman: It was insidious.

Man/Woman (together): We each thought it was the other until it spoke to us
in our own voices and then we knew we had a vampire.

It flew at us like the past, made a mockery of the future we
wanted.

Man: Had me thinking she wasn’t the sky I flew in.

Woman: Had me thinking he wasn’t the rock I stood on.

Man/Woman (together): Had us thinking we were each other’s enemy.

Man: Loaded and cocked. My words were fists.

Woman: Stealth bomber. Appeared out of nowhere. Disappeared into pain.

Man: I lost my job.

Woman: I got a promotion.

Man: Attitude problems. I spoke a black man’s language.

Woman: There’s a time and a place. Mouths to feed.

Man/Woman: That’s when it bit.

Man: Damn mosquitoes…

Woman: …sucking our blood.

Man: I slapped at them.

Woman: I sprayed repellant.

Man/Woman: But it wasn’t mosquitoes. Our blood was being drained.
________________________________________________________

Vampire: The blood was rich. Full of love and life. They had no right to it.
I made it mine. Became big and strong. Starting eyeing the children.
Classic albatross.
_________________________________________________________

Man/Woman: We stood looking at the couple in the mirror.

Woman: Lean.

Man: Fighting lean.

Man: Fuck this shit.

Woman: My name’s not Kendra.

Man: You love me?

Woman: I love you.

Man: You ready?

Woman: I’m ready.

This entry was posted in Black Men, Black Women, Community, Hope, Love and Loss of Love, Short Stories by Tichaona. Bookmark the permalink.

About Tichaona

Tichaona Bright, Assertive, Caring, Semi-Unreconstructed The sister of Ifeoma Lover of Sankara Kono, natural Afrakan aesthetics and free-forming Who feels like a woman scorned (hell hath no fury) when it comes to colonialism, delight in being Earth born, and trepidation at thoughts of my son's future Who needs water like its lifeblood, comradely behavior and reciprocity; Who fears dying a stranger in a strange land, the death of revolutionary Afrakan culture and paper tigers who think they're the real thing Who gives wholehearted affection to those I love, a damn and the barrel of my pen Who would like to change the meek of the Earth into the conscious inheritors/caretakers of the Earth Who hopes that what goes up must come down without destroying the ground I softly tread upon Who lived a sad life until revolutionary winds blew my way Munhamo-Chinyelu

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Private: Ménage a Trois

Man: It was evil.
Woman: It was insidious.

Man/Woman (together): We each thought it was the other until it spoke to us
in our own voices and then we knew we had a vampire.

It flew at us like the past, made a mockery of the future we
wanted.

Man: Had me thinking she wasn’t the sky I flew in.

Woman: Had me thinking he wasn’t the rock I stood on.

Man/Woman (together): Had us thinking we were each other’s enemy.

Man: Loaded and cocked. My words were fists.

Woman: Stealth bomber. Appeared out of nowhere. Disappeared into pain.

Man: I lost my job.

Woman: I got a promotion.

Man: Attitude problems. I spoke a black man’s language.

Woman: There’s a time and a place. Mouths to feed.

Man/Woman: That’s when it bit.

Man: Damn mosquitoes…

Woman: …sucking our blood.

Man: I slapped at them.

Woman: I sprayed repellant.

Man/Woman: But it wasn’t mosquitoes. Our blood was being drained.
________________________________________________________

Vampire: The blood was rich. Full of love and life. They had no right to it.
I made it mine. Became big and strong. Starting eyeing the children.
Classic albatross.
_________________________________________________________

Man/Woman: We stood looking at the couple in the mirror.

Woman: Lean.

Man: Fighting lean.

Man: Fuck this shit.

Woman: My name’s not Kendra.

Man: You love me?

Woman: I love you.

Man: You ready?

Woman: I’m ready.

This entry was posted in Short Stories by Tichaona. Bookmark the permalink.

About Tichaona

Tichaona Bright, Assertive, Caring, Semi-Unreconstructed The sister of Ifeoma Lover of Sankara Kono, natural Afrakan aesthetics and free-forming Who feels like a woman scorned (hell hath no fury) when it comes to colonialism, delight in being Earth born, and trepidation at thoughts of my son's future Who needs water like its lifeblood, comradely behavior and reciprocity; Who fears dying a stranger in a strange land, the death of revolutionary Afrakan culture and paper tigers who think they're the real thing Who gives wholehearted affection to those I love, a damn and the barrel of my pen Who would like to change the meek of the Earth into the conscious inheritors/caretakers of the Earth Who hopes that what goes up must come down without destroying the ground I softly tread upon Who lived a sad life until revolutionary winds blew my way Munhamo-Chinyelu

Leave a Reply