Friday, January 21, 2011

A Road Trip with Nini

Fred Wambugu Maina ©. All rights reserved


Hills on the horizon
Their background the Elgon
Tin houses rise to the fore
One, particularly, haloed with a cross
Tens gathered in colour and song
The music struggles
To drown the van’s rev

As he too struggles
To drown images from past dark

Lance-a-lot jousting
With nightly grace
Wait, he digresses
Was her name Grace?

His eyes stray from pen to plant life
Sparing some time to the road
Negotiations enter, bringing them
To a mutual compromise
Resting his eyes on her plum physique

Warm, that fuzzy feeling down below
Goofy, that knowing look in his gaze
Malice, that intent written all o’er her face
Reason, that which they choose to ignore.

As she leans over, leans in, lips torn asunder
A beam spread ‘cross her thriving brow
She bottles his immediate need with a smack
Reveling in his look, wild bliss plastered over

Hormonal thermostat approaching unbearable status
Beads of perspiration, thumps of palpitation,
Neither from the blaring heat,
No sign points to precipitation

Ah, Nini’s Jetco rest, a quickie face wash
And then some…more hyperventilation
Drags of puff, he breathes in
Hmmph; the mothership shifts on her seat
Microscorpions relocate hastily ‘pon the desolate tract

Tiny tingles trace up his belly
With each mini step, buckets of sweat spring forth
Quiet times, serene vanity, and occasional grunts
Grey matter sounds the carry-on call

Settings changed, curtains close, and clothes drop
Hmmphs replaced with a barrage of oomphs
Road trip forgotten, engine shut, and restroom open
Not to mention the aahs! Careful not to advertise their activities
Well, least not too loudly

Both running in parallel, their units converging
Near the deserted ferry landing
Burdens of intellect fleetingly disregarded
The motel beckons, and awareness tips his hat to them.

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