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.