ID. I Do. IDEA.

by Nicole Clarke
So there's this old dude, right. And... his eyes are dim, he cannot see, he has not brought his specs with... He? Was supposed to
work, at least, if you were a Girl Guide, but. Anyways
There's this old dude, right, who's looking for his specs and he looks in the bedroom. Not there. Kitchen? Not there. Living room? Not there. 
So his wife comes in, realizes what he's doing and says, “You old wanker, they're right there on your god-forsaken head!”

No longer funny. No longer young enough to be excused nor old enough to know better, he married the girl.Chile she up, take chain up 'bout wedlock. And married the girl. They could say whatever they want about a dollar, but the reds was nice, willing and big belly.
So he married she.

But then there was... she. 

No sapodilla sweeter. No mango riper. And, pardon the language, no pussy tighter. Weaving in and out of every man's fantasy, from his to yours and his to yours and his to... 

And back again. 

Not the best, not the worst. Not the last, not the first. But something to write home about. Something to pee your pants for. And something to make you remember...

Remember?

Strange how, originally, no one talked 'bout (remembered?) she army man father. She army man father who only find out... she army man father who say... she army man father who make it easy to accept that she was a reds who was nice, who was willing and who...
Well, we done know he married she.

And, so, it was written, in the book of life, and a child was born. 

Then another. And another. 

And, at the same time, a man was born. Suckling for air and life within the womb; gasping and grasping for the freedom without.

But there is no happily ever after. 

Just some kiddies trying to find a dude, who maybe cyah even find his glasses but isn't even remotely related to the dude who... 

Married she. 

And he? He goes through life, day after day, droning on and on, a slave to himself. 

So what to do?

Can someone tell someone...

What to do?

Nuttin. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Because, at the end of the day...

Who is this dude?

Is it you, or your father, yoursisteryourbrotheryourchildyour...

Mother.

Or maybe it's just you.

Your identity.

Your inability to accept yourself. Your life. Your you.

That strange thing inside that pulses and beats and would spit on a stranger if it had the chance. The courage. That thing. That you. That... 

That that.

So you will sleep with his wife... Once no one know. Watch porn. As long as nobody know. Play with your... As long as. Slap that...

Shh...

Let's take a drink and...

And it have real rain these days.

Laugh. Out. Loud.

Once upon a time, a boy, a girl and a no one started running.

The boy ran into a man.

The girl ran into life.

And the no one...

The no one ran into you.

So you decide.

Can he find his glasses.

Can he find his wife.

Can you.

Find?

Yourself.