MusingsPoetry

Our Father’s House

Farther than our father’s’ fathers’ house
Was to us, were details of the tales
We knew nothing about.

He calls our mom ‘Mama Chuka‘,
And we wonder what
He called her before Chuka came.

He’d tricked her into the bedroom
Form the sitting room,
After the ọha dinner—
Then leap like he had made an achievement
And we’d wonder if he’ll add it to his C. V.

If Daddy dropped money,
His chi was keen to him.
And if we overheard daalụ, nne‘.
From the inner part of the room,
Nne had satisfied the man in his hood.

Most times, the alarm that woke us
Was mommy’s awkward moaning
From the inner part of the house.
Daddy ‘did‘ it almost 24/7.

Our father’s house was just another maze
One could just get lost in, like a mice
And a place one could learn the art of
Tricking a stubborn woman into the bedroom
And starving a stingy man of sex.

For me, I’d bulid a room apartment
To save the stress of having to trick her—
We’ll just do our thing there.

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