It was a habit, of most horrid things
To visit at night; this happened in day.
This pail will not empty itself.
This pail full of the rich man’s clothes;
They will not rub the dirt off themselves,
Rinse and rinse, along with the detergents.
They will not hang themselves on the line,
Even when they are all drained of water—
They will just sit there and wait;
Wait for you, Mama, to pick them up
And accord the same love they demand,
Stringing one up after another.
Watch out for the next part!
Benie is a poet and fiction writer, living in Nairobi, Kenya. He shares thought-provoking discussions, and occasionally does spoken word poetry and plays. Benie is also a freelance content and article writer. A dreamer, he realizes a world of possibilities through stories and explores life in poetry.