BY ALEM HAILU
He took his wife
A punching bag
He is at liberty to hug
Or to blow up steam
By her hairs to drag.
As it may sound sad
He opted to project
A doting husband facade.
When she became vocal
About this
To his parents
Who she called
Mom and dad
“We do not expect
Our well brought up
Son with
Something underhand!”
“We are afraid
The complaint is not
Plausible as he has
A cool head!” they said.
One cold morning
Verbally abused by
Her spouse
His mother sought
To take a refuge
In their house.
“Mom, your son, for lunch
Will be back soon.
To prepare for you
A special dish
Which you will relish
The neighborhood market
I will scour
It may not take me an hour.
Feel at home
Putting on this blanket
On the sofa take a rest.”
After a sleepless night
And in her head and
Outside a fog
It didn’t take his mother long
To sleep like a log.
Her son came back soon.
Instead of saying
“Wake up my dear wife
Good afternoon!”
He kicked her
In a manner
That allowed his mom
See his true color.
A galvanometer needle
She got on her feet
“My sanctimonious
Dear son
Is that the way
Your better half
You greet!”
Petrified he stood
Nowhere to retreat.
The Ethiopian herald December 27/2020
