By Tikum Mbah Azonga
I met the pastor’s wife yesterday
She carried a blown balloon
And a sharpened kitchen knife
What she lacked, and lacked badly
Were sandals made to match.
She didn’t stop to pray
All she thought of was the monsoon
And herself as the ideal wife
Not knowing children watch her sadly
Because she’s not marching with her own batch.
Copyright 2010
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