THINKING KING KENNY ON QUEEN PATRICIA BAKARE

She is usually asleep

When gently, noiseless you lower you

Next to her, you Are sometimes numb

By habit, the patina of self-indulgence

From having too many drinks spinning the ceiling

Promise as promises are to quit by the next outing

The black frost of outsideness, being with the boys

The pull, to get cuddled by them; the flattery and jabs

To keep from not doing it one more day, chilly

So, the resisting resilient walls of, 'not again,' crumbles,

It was in all, an apostasy, of superficially bendable resolve

Now, you are at the embankment

Of bedclothes, where she used to be

In sleep braces, her honied fragrance against

Your mixture of all sorts of bad beer breath

Slowly on the weakest days, you feel as if it was

Her own warmth surfacing or the ferment of her

Body like old, in the dark beneath the cover sheets

Steals in; spilling into your consciousness bit by bit

To break down that loneliness and the chills

You turn to want to hold her, draw her close, tightly

Only to wake to the reality of a dream pogrom

What now is the reality, the bubble busted

Sinking into the new you that has just been

In the old place where you once daily were like

Who truly you were, a king in his kingdom with

A pat, your Queen always patiently, hold forth

This a reminder to us all, to cherish our wives alive.

Segun Ozique