This is no poem
This right here is a peon
Putting her shovels down
Madam won't eat today
I'm putting the tools down.
The irritation that forces its way out of my finger nails
Is the same irritation that will iron madam's clothes today.
Sleep wants me back to bed
I wake up at 4 am everyday, it's bad,
Warm the kids' and madam's water to wash their cruel bodies
They don't want me to cook except in the twilights
When they are back from work and school.
Inadvertently, I once dived into madam's noodles
I drowned in terror as she roared at me,
saying I'm only entitled to soft porridge and left overs.
She doesn't want me to go home
My heart yearns for a day to come
I want to see my family
It's been long now
Madam just foully gives me my loose six hundred
I put it in a kombi and send it home.
Madam sometimes accuses me of sleeping with her husband
Her voice is a brass band
My anger dances to its tunes
As she yells at me.
This is no poem
This right here is a peon
Putting her shovels down
Madam won't eat today
I'm putting the tools down.
The irritation that forces its way out of my fingernails
Is the same irritation that will iron madam's clothes today.
Mlungisi Nxumalo
2016©
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