A Woman’s Anguish

This gold and cold ring,
That is hugging my little finger gladly, Harshly reminds me that you’re yet to ring me.
While I’m whiling away alone at home, You’re touring K Street with your G-Touring car,
With an intent to V-Tour the uncouth lasses.
Will you blame me,
If another with an Imprezza impresses me?
Will you Chastise me,
If I pay an imprest to another for his interest in

I’m a wife with a knife
Gorged deeply by you George,
In this hurting heart,
And life is slowly bleeding from me, And the hurt is lowly and slowly getting cold and
old. Loving’s certainly become a chore, Loving’s surely become a bore,
Love’s a call,
But George you’re not calling.
When I’ll knock down the L in love, When I’ll add the R at the very end of love,
Then it’ll be OVER!
Then you’ll know how a woman’s anguish tastes like…

Copyright Ayoub Mzee 2012


4 thoughts on “A Woman’s Anguish

  1. Reminds me of the works of the very agile linguist slash fiction writer from Cuba, Guillermo Cabrera Infante. He had a trilogy of short stories, collectively called Guilty of Dancing the Chachacha, and all three stories started the same way. Almost identical, except for the can’t and cant and Kant; the one million reasons in a day and the one reason in a million days. It was intoxicating, and was always worth a re-read. Every. Single. Time. And this poem of yours has the same vibe and power.

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