Hold me steady, young man for my bones quiver hard
within me. Where is blindness when you need one? Where is death when its name
invokes sweet memories in you? Take me, oh mighty horse before the mother of my
grandchildren sprays me with dust from her car. Suffocate me, oh ye bitter
aroma of cold coffee, before I breath the rancid aura of her stinky armpits.
This woman, she has taught my grandchildren to speak with a strange tongue, one
that I don’t in the least comprehend. Pity my son, a man whose testicles have
crawled back to their musty hideout. He whimpers when she speaks and goes under
the table when she coughs. My son is a coward, jumping at the sound of the
shadows and cowering at the sight of her ghost. The boy I brought up is not the
man I see now. He is a disgrace, a dog that barks in whispers and runs away
from the echoes. I asked him someday if she was the only woman in the world but
he didn’t answer. I watch him every day as he disappears into her exaggerated
chest in front of the children and I can swear he comes out gasping like a
drowning animal and smelling like a freshly milked cow. This woman, a seductive
witch my husband brought home has ruined my son, turning him into a cheerleader
in his home game, a flower girl at his own wedding. Take me away, let me join
my old wife before this midnight mage hounds me out of Sodom, her chief house
of sin.
This grey woman makes my eyes weep and my mouth aghast.
Even tonnes of makeup cannot hide her ugly mouth and shadowy eyes. Her big lips
never run short of gossip and rancour. I cease not to watch her voluminous
buttocks clap thunderously past the gasping gateman and the bewildered gardener
as they disturbingly rub their itching crotches. This woman that my son married
is like an overfed predator, maybe a vampire bat. She puts blood all over her
lips and blue mud on top of her eyes and she bats like a convulsing reptile.
When she talks, words slide off her tongue like wet diarrhoea and splashes all
over the wall and through our uncomprehending ears. Where were you looking son?
Did her big behind hide your brain from view? Did her ‘witchy’ eyes bewitch
you? This woman is a snake, rattling orders and hissing impatiently at the slow
housemaid, a terrorist without a gun. Take me away, oh black horse before she
sets me up for dinner. Carry me away before she slices me with her grey eyes or
suffocates me with her devilish perfume. Take me away, dark horse, before her
ugliness scares my haggard spirit away. I do not know what will become of my
grandchildren. Will they learn to whimper and hide like their father, my son? I
wish they had made me impotent, or better still let me die when I was young,
and maybe my son would not have fallen under her spell. The milk is spilt so
there is no use crying over it.
Ah, you scare me son, I scare, just let me go home.
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