She is, without doubt, home free
the wife of a ‘greener-pasture-seeker’ overseas –
men who have chosen to leave
this country than stay home and pay tithes
against their will to an episcopal curate – Poverty.
With a legitimate ring on her finger
he has yoked her to his ox – an agenda
to keep her perpetually busy at birthing.
Abandoned in her prime to the liaison of self-love
this nagging necessity private pleasures wouldn’t appease
has driven her into hussy like boldness.
Closemouthed about her licentious affairs
she asserts to right wrong her intimate yen;
she doesn’t need to play chaste, she’s starved.
Judge or call her wayward, faithful or not
she owes no one but her maker an explanation.
Once in a while, he jets in – her better half,
with the air of Husspuppy and expectant gratitude
from a woman who long ago awaited her dues.
Eventually; maternity – as long as the newborn
doesn’t spot features discordant with his father.
All is well, the truth can be a bitter pill.
His homecoming would obviate scrutiny
and inquest by doubting Thomas – family, and relatives,
but whose child, his? Only a DNA can say –
a husband deserves a fudge once in a while.
Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords | 2020