When on one is looking

Him holding my hand as we walked down the streets aroused a feeling, nothing sexual maybe it was shame.
The monkey mangoes by sight reminded my mind of the bitter one I once had.
I was sitting next to a car bumper, my heart racing, my mind alert ready to send signals to my legs to move it just incase of anything.
The pregnant lady's eyes, blood shot red. It wasn't an allergy. His bad behavior had creeped back into their now adorned home.
The old Man, steadly forming his hands to hold his new found refuge. His cigar now his new escape after his wife slept and slept for good. His hands shaking, holding his tears back. He doesn't sleep well.
Well, the other man won't stop bragging about how he has money but still decides to get the cheapest of commodities, probably trying to be accomodating to the less previledged audience.
When he wasn't scary, he was gentle. He caressed my thigh with care. He was a good man.
She spoke of the nights out like they were a treasure, a stranger plants a passionate kiss on her neck but he wasn't the one. There is no such thing as the one.
The bus conductor yells his lungs out despite his own frustrations. His wife at their fifth pregnancy but his still proud to have fathered them so he gaves a bright smile right before he yells again.
She tucks back her many coloured chitenge on her head, holding back a river of tears, passer bys tempted to ask but can't. It was never the onions. It was him. Beating her up every night as though she were a drum but she was still the head of their home. Paying for their rent and food.
It finally hit me, he was leaving. He tucked his suitcase but there he was tucking my heart in it. His big eyes searching my face for an emotion but it was still.
She is drowning but no one can see it. She gives out a loud laughter as she speaks about her depression. She'd be fine, i always reassured. Terrified she might jump. Heavens don't allow it.