Surrealism Poem by segun Johnson Ozique

16 good years and two months I am.
A close, angelic, ministerial life I live.
Adherence to best circumscriptive behaviour,
A life, supremely loved by my parents.

Yet, secretly hunted by a hidden feelings,
A yearning, a hunger for a life –
Unknown...Unexplored.
Anything, I pray, unloved by my parents

Then I saw him.
So rough and unrefined
Who is he! ? And they say;
He is the school gardener’s son.

Hanging about the school at closing,
Always on tattered jeans,
Under skimpy body hugging T-shirt,
Shamelessly flaunting toned biceps.

I ask, does he, like me;
Feel bridled, manacled, proscribed?
Feel burdened by responsibilities?
Feel conscience-stricken?

No to all, they say.
I have only but a school session here.
And now each time dad drives by the entrance,
I pretend not to see him smiling at me.

But I know he knows I see him.
And I feel if peradventure we meet;
If perchance he asks for my hands,
As his, I just might say yes.

Why I may?
I’m not sure;
I don’t know,
Not yet.