Bringing with her tummy aches and migraines.
She might as well flog me repeatedly with a cane.
Her bag contains all the pimples a woman could possibly gain.
Why can’t she bring me fancy rings and golden chains?
Or bring someone to clean my house and scrub away stains?
I would have preferred a monthly plate of fried plantains.
Or better still, a massage from that ex-One Direction guy named Zayn.
But I endure her visits through gritted teeth and silent refrains.
When it is over, I feel my peace of mind and my sanity regained.
Written by ©Ivie M. Eke 2017.