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sadist – ii

a real man

doesnt raise his hands

against a woman

he raises a woman with his hands.

fkregie 2017.

sadist – i

when you see a hurt woman

as the source of your strength – thats a weakness

for you will neither overcome that woman

nor your weakness.

fkregie 2017.

angel

only three named angels

all male

proof there are no female angels

but here you are – not male

i hear angels dont reproduce – true

so – who made you

i hear angels have no wings

so – how did you learn to mend broken wings

i hear angels have no form – like winds

but you hold back the four winds.

fkregie 2017.

hooked

like the oarfish, his sighting is a harbinger of a tremor. he lives in the deep-waters of her happiness – a deep-lying reminder good things come in waves. but it’s the tides between the waves that rock her skerry. so, you can imagine her feelings when, sitting in her living room on a cloudy saturday morning mid-april, he knocks and walks in. she gets up, hugs and invites him to sit down. as they dispense of courtesies, she is texting. he has an uncanny precognition of her texting habits – he knows she wouldn’t be texting a woman at seven-thirty-six in the morning. she prefers calling her close friends.  as she responds to a text, he looks around the living room – new photos of their three-year-old daughter, new healthy potted plants, new hand-made artifacts in dark hues of orange to match the new sofas, two used glasses of wine on the center table – no lipstick mark on either, a turquoise pair of shoes beside the sofa she is sitting on, a whiff of a male oud perfume … a text comes in, she checks it, smiles and responds. she hasn’t seen or heard from him in three months except for sporadic texts about their child. when he left three months ago, he had told her he couldn’t give her what she wanted immediately. she told him she couldn’t wait any longer – four years was a long time. she knew he had a new flame, but she was tired of fighting fires. another text comes in, she checks it, smiles and responds. she looks at him. he pats the space besides him, she gets up to sit beside him. he seems to have lost a few pounds, but he still looks in good shape in his navy-blue under armour storm rival tracksuit.

            “so.” she turns slightly to face him. from his angle, her resemblance to whoopi is striking. he unzips his tracksuit top. she notices he is wearing an engagement ring – on a gold herringbone necklace. he touches the ring.

            “depends where you would want to wear it. i agree, four years is a long time.” a text comes in, she looks at it, puts the phone aside. she closes the space between them on the sofa, he leans forward, she puts her hands round his neck – to undo the hook.

fkregie 2017.

watermark

“i smelt a fuse burn”

this made me laugh

on a day everything was on burn

mode – like you make me laugh

whenever my mind is on burn

mode – like you make me laugh

whenever sparks fly

to set this fired soul

ablaze

always – instinctually – on the fly

you come to watermark this soul

and cool the fiery haze

like you were born

to give me life.

fkregie 2017.

earth matters – ii

it doesnt matter

where you are

on this earth

only this matter

always – you are

constant in this earth.

fkregie 2017.

earth matters – i

before i met you

i thought the earth

was mine – and that

made me happy

since i met you

this earth

is yours – and this

makes me happy.

fkregie 2017

diary of a mad frequent flyer

i have heard men say they can tell where a woman has been by how she smells. i laugh. well! i can tell from three miles out if a man will smell bad. and the last place you want to be with a man that smells bad is a two-seater on a full flight. you scrub yourself thoroughly, and then end up in a seat beside an unbathed crotch. i am not talking about passengers who have not had time to refresh on long-haul flights or passengers on delayed flights – i am talking passengers on an early morning inter-city flight. if you haven’t had this luck, believe me, you don’t want to be sitting, at seven in the morning, beside a man who had beer, garlicked food and sex for dinner and didn’t even bother to do the ditches. growing up, we could only watch tv in the evening after we have had a bath. such a rule should apply on early-morning flights. look, i don’t detest people with body odor or garlicky breath – every human has a body odor, except you are among the two percent with the abcc11 gene. but there’s a difference between natural body odor or spicy-food odor and the crotch odor of a man with an allergy to water. besides, my last boyfriend was quite mad-rass and spicy. yea, you know what they say, ‘if you want a horse, you have to run the races.’ well, poor him, he was no horse, but how i loved him – spicy-food odor, garlic-breath and … i hear garlic chases away demons, and god knows i had a tad few demons to chase from my mind every time he had me feet-saluting the ceiling god. the short, short, short of it is, i had a nice time with him. i hear communing with the ceiling god isn’t the same when you let your mind roam, you must focus only on the here and now, they say. and i ask, why do we use music to set the mood if the mind isn’t supposed to roam. you’ve got to let your mind roam, and forget in the short, short, short run … geez! my mind just roamed, and in that instance i forgot the crotch beside me. you see, roaming does have its uses. but we don’t have to roam for hours on end, at 35000 feet in the air, on an inter-city flight, just because we are nose up the wrong fork in the tree. they say cleanliness is next to godliness, well, at 35000 feet in the air you don’t want to be that close to god with … well, yes. put in some condition – ‘all ye who enter here must bath first’ – especially livestock connoisseurs. did i hear you say, “bitch please!”

            “hi, my name is mothusi. you are?”

            “arouma.” i hold my breath.

            “as in odor?” i smile. and he crosses his legs.

fkregie 2017.

betcha never

there comes a time in every relationship when, like a cat sliding down the algaed wall of a well, leaving talon trails, you know you’ve lost all traction – but you try to hang on as you slide into abyss. then you start to hear the voices … she walks out of the ensuite bathroom in a stunning red dress to find him sitting on the couch in the bedroom – the remote control to the sound system in his hand. she thought he was in the living room watching orlando pirates get slaughtered again. as she opens her jewelry box to take out a pair of stud earrings, she is thinking, ‘why does he keep watching that team with players that cannot even pass urine. isn’t it frustrating watching your beloved team fall in love with losing?’ she is gyrating to the song that has just started playing, unawares he is trying to shut moneoa up as she sings, “… my poor pride she feel so hurt and so betrayed/it’s alright you’ll never feel my love again/silly me, silly me,/how could i, how could i,/fall in love, fall in love,/silly girl, heh, ey, heh!/silly me, silly me,/how could i, how could i,/fall in love, fall in love,/silly girl, heh, ey, heh!”[1]

silence.

          “are you going out again?” she says nothing. she opens the wardrobe again and brings out a bottle of chanel’s chance. she sprays it on her neck, down her cleavage, and then she lifts her dress and sprays it between her legs. his heart is thumping hard against his throat.

           “are you going with mary-anne?” she looks at him, snorts. she walks to the mirror in the passage and pirouettes in front of it. satisfied, she comes back into the bedroom, picks up her red clutch-bag and the car keys from the bed. he gets up.

          “you didn’t answer me.” she looks at her watch, looks at him, then sits on the bed. she picks up the remote control, puts the sound system on and skips to track three. moments later vanessa williams is speaking her mind. he knows the song, he has heard it all evening as she prepared to go out. in fact, there are only three songs on the cd. he almost switched off the sound system when he came into the room and heard gladys knight singing, “neither one of us.”[2] he grabs the remote control and switches off the system as vanessa williams sings: “tonight i give you my surprise/i hope that you won’t mind/i’m giving you an eye for an eye/baby, i’ve found another/and he is my lover/and i’m going out for the rest of your life.”[3]

              “if you’re not going to answer me, then you’re going nowhere.” she looks at him, picks up the clutch bag and car keys and gets up. he pushes her back on the bed – knocking her windless. she knows what would follow. so, she says nothing. she grabs the car keys from the floor next to the clutch-bag. as she gathers the spilled content of the clutch-bag, he storms out of the room. as he settles into the sofa in the living room his phone vibrates. it’s a message from her. his first instinct is not to read it, but the first words displayed on the lock-screen catch his attention. he opens the message:

          “men who think a woman’s place is in the kitchen, should know that’s where the knives are kept.”

[1] Moneoa. (2013). Is’xbhanxa. Mokoya Mix Vol. 2, Superbly Mixed by DJ Sabza.

[2] Knight, Gladys. (1972). Neither One of Us (Wants to Be the First to Say Goodbye). Neither One of Us. Soul.

[3] Williams, Vanessa. (1995). Betcha Never. The Sweetest Days. Wing . Mercury.

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