Poetry: A Toast To Tempers

Glass-of-wine-picture

You call me your wife
Made me the vehicle for procreation
I cook all the meals
I wash all the clothes
All night long
I listen to the tuneless music of your nostrils
I heard you
I heard you!
Loud and clear
This morning
I said I heard you
As you told her on the phone
‘be patient,
Is it not just a few thousands,
To fix your hair? Yes,
My wife will soon receive her salary
Just wait
I will send it
I got your back’
I heard you!
Bleeding?
From my stiletto!
Who is bleeding more
You or me
Thank God
I don’t have a temper.

Bose

Click Next To Continue Reading This Post

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *


About us

Everything you’ll find in our literature are products of our thoughts, experiences and challenges. Search for a theme that interests you, read and tell us what you think about it.


CONTACT US

CALL US ANYTIME