Gratitude

Gratitude

For you, I can be dustbin

How my second wife looked at me
I can’t ever erase
Like dustbin with happy flies lazy around
Stinking and smelling
With banana peels smears around the edges
Begging to be set free from bondage.
I almost smelled myself
To reaffirm I took my bath today
It didn’t stop me from taking another shower
Just to clean the stink look
I almost did but Sisi mi always manages to sneak in with me.

She’s the reason I stink to all my wives
That I am dustbin
I’m not an infidel
I mean her co-wives.
Sisi mi with waist that tears me apart
You have to be old enough to know this part
That she’s the fried snail to my roasted plantain
That she sneaks to my back yard
With a bowl of gizzard after iya agba usual pee on her routine night

The only one I allow to my beards and tap my head raw
Afterall she does keep my other head in her hands
Working out magic that those others called taboo
Taking charge till I vibrate and tell her I’m her child and she can breastfeed

Sisi mi without any issues to my name
The truth is I’m glad
Children are distractions from the only thing I look forward to

So when I buy five expensive wrappers
Two golden shoes
And beads for the waist that never cease to break and roll for me,
My older wives look me dirty
Like I’m dustbin and bewitched
I say they don’t spice up gratitude
Because I know the night of the wrappers
Will be a tale even palm wine can’t lift the spirits to

Sisi mi , my joy to work hard when I know I’ll be rewarded
Always

With waist that break like latex

is just horse story
And climax is a stone throw
Everyday, always.
Sisi mi, my forever young.

Young samurai BTS army Novel reader Little woman.

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