Maama Boss

Maama Boss – I have a thought,

That I thought might appease,

Or mayhaps, dis-ease –

And cause your heart a pause.

You see, I am in a dilemma,

Me – a man from Kiira,

Living here, in your villa;

Where you’ve given me a job,

So I may not rob,

And cause my family, to sob;

Boss Mama – in the morning,

While still you’re snoring,

I mow the lawn – in the compound,

Round and round – all over the ground;

And yet, my mind also goes in circles,

Wondering many riddles,

Like how you sit idle

While Boss Papa rocks the baby’s cradle;

Is it because

You are of a class in the ‘middle’?

Maama boss, why does your husband play second fiddle?

All the while acting gentle,

While you giggle and doodle –

You doodle on your nails – varnish;

You doodle on your hair – garnish

You doodle on your lips – ‘‘stickish’’!

I am awed,

That a man can be so cowed.

I think aloud –

When, in bed, you do the rounds,

Is it he, who makes the sounds?

Is it him below,

And you, above?

Boss Mama – I propose a proposition

That you may think a superstitious supposition,

But now – why doesn’t Papa Boss be the mama?

And you mama, the papa –

After all, you already own the sofa!

8^th-Aug-2015

© Lantern Meet of Poets

(Renditioned in an October 2015 public recital, The-Man-You-Script)