The Jester’s Monologue

By Adesope Adisa

I dance

till my feet bleed.

Jolly and loud—

that’s the jest of me.

Louder and louder,

newer moves find me—

hypnotizing jazz hands,

funky knees.

How much more

till they like me?

Attention—

this dancing disease.

Bleeding behind grins,

eyes like darts

searching for knowing.

Heat crawls

up the side of his face—

strobe lights

licking and intimate.

Only the lights

see the tears

seeking refuge

in his ducts.

Heat.

Hot movement.

Rapid breath.

Weighted heart.

Sun down and - tomorrow, the jests are needed again

By Adesope Adisa