Melanoma

By Ola W. Halim 

(for all albinos battling skin cancer) 

i. my skin eats itself daily until all left of it is mincemeat

ii. my skin is a sketch work of shiny reds, charred browns, pulpy whites, and fruity pinks

a polka-dot bed of blood speckles: dead fleas stuck to glass maroon starlets strewn about a sepia sky iii. 'auto-dermatophagia, you mean? / no man, this is skin cancer / melanoma, actually'

my dermatologist's voice is calm

'you don't have melanin / to fight the ultraviolet, LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE, man / so stay away / from the sun / as much as you can'

iv. this is what he means: my skin is a vindictive villain in a dystopian film but instead of homicide it commits measured suicide slowly, drip-drop, pit-pat induced by the ultraviolet

who raises a squadron of red boils and distributes them across its surface like videotaped philanthropy

and when the boils ripen my skin harvests pus and coagulated blood leaving behind a casualty of keloids morphing from dread to death

v. this will continue to happen because i can't stay away from the sun as much as i can or does food develop wings and perch atop a man counting the rosary as he waits for sunset?

BIO: Ola W. Halim writes fiction and poetry in Edo State, where he also teaches English Language and Literature. He won the LitFest Prize for Prose for his short story, "Miracle". His work has appeared or is forthcoming on the Kalahari Review, African Writer, Dwartsonline, ARTmosterrific, Lolwe, etc. Halim can be reached on Twitter @OlaposiH and Instagram via ola_w.halim.