How they ‘loved’
I am terrified of the kind of love my father offered my mother
Because my father used it against her, against all of us
Do you know the details of it? Let me ….
Every time I saw them talking, he was always asking for something:
A hot bath, warm food, ironed clothes, babies
They called it ‘love’ yet it was just work for her
He sat in the sofa, satisfied with his dominion,
Watching TV and speculating about politics and soccer
He never even allowed us to play on his lap
‘These kids will dirty my ironed trousers,’ he said
I grew up thinking kissing was a behind-the-curtains affair;
My parents never did it in front of us.
Their love was a secret, a secret of work,
A secret of calculating expenditure, our school fees
Mother loved father by cooking, washing and ironing for him
Father loved mother by bringing home money at the end of the month
This kind of love, I don’t want
I want to stargaze at night, my spouse by my side
I want to ignore the inflation and my low income
I want to ignore the empty rhetoric of our politicians and their thievery,
I want to ignore the anger I have against the underperforming national soccer team
I want to kiss my wife in front of my kids, a long deep kiss to suck out all pain
Just to show them that the world cannot dictate my expression of love
I want to love my kids by loving their mother
I don’t want my father’s kind of ‘love’
Get out, kill him
Today when he comes back from the alcohol den
He will beat you up for three reasons:
One, he is not dead. You haven’t killed him
Two, he promised his buddies that he would do it
Three, he enjoys it very much; your ‘lovely screams’.
If you want him dead then hold the kitchen knife in both hands
and stab him deep in the loins.
Twist that knife until he cries out in a language you’ve never heard.
Close the door behind you and let him bleed out
Let him crawl around the house,
Let him beg the devil to come for him
But don’t let him smear his blood on you
Or anything else that you treasure