Sun. Apr 21st, 2019

POETRY: The Prodigal Son

He is the sugar my mum talked about
The saturation in the next roundabout
He gave me that look my mum described
It swept my feet like an easy bribe
A prodigal son gone protocol

By Viola Mwese

He is the sugar my mum talked about
The saturation in the next roundabout
He gave me that look my mum described
It swept my feet like an easy bribe
A prodigal son gone protocol

My grandma’s ‘sukar’ was analog
My mother’s ‘suga’ was as thick as a log
My ‘shuga’ may be different
That may depend with some preference
That prodigal son follows a protocol

Grandpa was a polygamous
My mother’s mother was a polygamous
She was hit to death
Her ‘sukar’ stopped her breath
Prodigal son going protocol

In my mother’s letter she was in love
Same man he loved caused his life
He made it possible for me to appear
Caused his discomfort, he had to disappear
He was the prodigal son in that protocol

Now I’m here
Confused and in fear
To oppose the nature
And pick my treasure
He might be the prodigal son in my protocol

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