Rancor n’ acrimony,
envy n’ jealously,
quarreling n’ cursing
clamps her in an embrace.
She’s a captive –
a willing devotee then,
an unwilling convert now
she has thrown her heart to wedlock.
What convinced her or her likes
of this affection, this sparky affair
toxic to its recipient n’ its bearer
I don’t know?
Nor do I understand
why she thinks she’s Teflon
and those who can’t stand
a rival – a second wife Velcro.
Maybe her ability to reason vaporized
when she heard him say,
“I can’t live another minute without you
altho’ I’ve got a wife; will you marry me?”
As if those words pressed a button
sending every lucid thought boiling up in steam
which shot out through her ears, eyes n’ head
leaving her rash to murder family tranquility.
Being married a 2nd, 3rd, 4th, or even 5th wife
is being enveloped constantly in a fiery cuddle –
Peace here is as rare as dinosaur eggs,
plenty of squabbling n’ fighting not just between
mum(s) n’ dad, wives n’ In-laws but among siblings.
Maybe it’s a disorder called Second-best;
mutating and spreading among ladies (young n’ old)
who can’t seem to find a mate,
but insist on stealing n’ sharing another’s.
You call it Polygamy – the seed planted
by our ancestors that wouldn’t wane
I call it SBS (Second-Best-Syndrome) –
your speed dial to an early grave.
Copyright © Ugo Nkwoala | Spilledwoords | 2019