Ngwatilo

every thing he says i recall
because he repeats himself
and tells tales as if the action is at par
with the Matrix or Genesis.

everything he says stays
especially my name in vexed tones,
he’s ready to leave,
but i’m still dressing, selecting earings,

So he roars my name into the walls,
no, he’s changed, now he drives radiowaves
into everything, dialing my cell to say
“Let’s go” in frustration.

i am not all bad. I listen,
and call out a response we’ve ritualized
to mean, “soon.” He doesn’t believe me,
and i am at once ashamed and amused.

Daddy misbehaves also, and i throw my fit
in turn, “Why didn’t you take your insulin?!”
i want to know, hurt and annoyed. Feeling
two things at once beats feeling one.

He shrugs, he thinks, “Surely what is one less
needle in my skin today?” “Life,” I say,
“I need you alive and well.” He shifts, changes
the subject, I’m glad we spoke at all.