It’s me again.
I wrote this months ago. I shared it on Twitter and just decided to share it here. It’s not a serious poem…
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You ever do the stupid love?
The kind where you’re trying to out-love the other person?
There are no limits to what you can do…
You read those pounding yam tweets and lol in your mind.
Ordinary pounding? Ees nuffin’.
Your belly is filled with the knowing that you put that smile on his face.
What is ordinary pounding?
He said, “I wish I had XYZ”.
The timing is perfect because you just got money. Bills can wait.
Your belly needs filling.
Your friends don’t know.
They don’t understand. They calculate too much… always wanting to know how much yam he has pounded for you.
Things are tough. Mortar is leaking, pestle is broken. One day, he will pound.
They don’t understand.
He’s chatting with Temi.
Their chats are getting hot and heavy.
He’s using his good spelling. And he’s talking about yam! He’s talking like he can pound.
You’re angry but you can’t help but wonder… were there lumps in your yam?
You set the whole damn barn on fire.
Nobody will kuku get yam… freshly pounded, boiled or poundo. Nothing.
Then your eyes clear and the fire dies down.
He says, “You see… it’s this typa shit that makes me not pound yam for you.”
