(Aided by Sam Smith’s song: I’m not the only one.)
Mother could’ve asked the world to stoop
And that it would’ve done
But she said yes! to you
In the dawn of your love,
She birthed all your brood
As much as you’d wanted
Much more than was needed.
In the intervening years of love
You then lost your interest
And in place of her touch
You sought someone else’s instead
The other lady for whom you’d rented an apartment downtown
When back at home almost no money would be found.
She became the object of your fantasies
Though concealed, in your dreams
She was the theme of your ecstasies,
They left no one in doubt of your lethal escapades
I suppose you made her happy
Whilst you were out on dates and dinners
When at home we sat morosely
staring at our plates and dinner
And reeking of doubt when you barged in tiredly saying you’d ordered meal
As you’d worked late in your office,
I suppose she was such a project big.
Mother had loved you so
She gave herself to no other
Even as the steady blows of your cuckolds
Made her emotionally battered
She remained steadfast in her resolve to
Make you her alpha and omega
Even when you finally unabashedly left our humble shelter
Craving more timely fun with your lover.
Mother, an African woman, never railed
Even when neighbours said it was diabolical
You’d left that way
Rejected such a splendid woman with all your bairns
For a serpent outside with claws within
Whose face, made up, was younger than her body beneath
Whose face, unmade, looked a gator’s skin.
Mother never railed nor spoke ill
Of her husband’s estranged and broken will
She kept working and praying for her children, her only gain
From this highly risky venture dubbed marriage.