Hazy Travel

Once in a while, I travel to town just so I can stay sane. Living in the village sets one back a few months psychologically and I’d hate to be that woman. So I’m sitting in a typical Kenyan matatu. I choose the front seat but a disabled man comes and has to sit here… He for reasons only he and the driver know cannot wait for another damn matatu and secure the same seat. I have to move close to the driver or alight. I chose to alight.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a bad person. It’s just that, there was no way I was sitting next to the driver(I have thighs to die for and a fist that can break a nose) and absolutely no way I was going to sit next to the disabled guy. (I know I should be saying physically challenged but this guy… I knew him. I have traveled with him twice before but he was so rude and had demands I couldn’t meet. He’d go like “mama fungulia Mimi hii drisha.” woman get me the window. Now his hands are perfectly made it’s his legs that have a problem. I didn’t open for him the window, I looked at his face then his hands then pursed my lips. He got mad and started telling me “unanidharau, kwani mimi si mwanau…” you are treating me like I’m not a man enou… at which point I sort refuge in my earphones. He threw a lot of tantrums in his mother tongue. I concluded he is a bitter man. He is yet to embrace his condition and is always grumpy and angry at the world. It’s as if the world owes him money, a beautiful wife, children and a wheelchair that can fly to a beach in Malibu. I swore never again to sit next to him.

So I alighted and took the seat behind the driver. Not a very comfortable spot for a 5’6 tall human. We get moving and at some point along the journey, the driver and conductor decide to sell us. Yes, you read that right; they sell us to another matatu that was now truly, honestly and faithfully going to Eldoret. I’m so mad.. I hate being lied to like that let alone being sold(how do women feel when they are exchanged for cows?.. Woshe). I move out fast so I can secure my seat.

I find a middle-aged man there and as I open the door he jumps out so I can sit next to the driver, I decline and say I’m alighting at the next stop. It works. He hops back in and I get my seat. The comfort of this seat is what people who know the meaning call hmmm… orgasmic. I don’t know what that means but a friend once told me it’s like the feeling of chocolate melting in your mouth. Now that’s quite something but not more something than the last bit of eggs on your plate as a kid. I remember back then how we would eat vegetables then save the eggs for last. That last morsel was IT…Those who know know.

The gentleman then falls asleep and I’m so happy he won’t question my not alighting. He wakes up when he hears me tell the driver to stop for me to alight at the Noble hotel that’s about 2kms away now. The driver stops but I change my mind and say “wacha tu nifike town.”  let me just get to the CBD. My sleeping but now awake neighbor quips “Ehehehe.. unaigopa giza? ” you scared of darkness? to which I give him an unsuspected “Hapana, naogopa kwa hiyo giza ntaweza ua mtu.” nop, just concerned I might kill someone in that darkness. “E!” (a very short exclamation he gives). The driver gets the joke and laughs heartily but my friend the sleeper is in shock and keeps looking at my face whenever lights from vehicles in the opposite direction light the windscreen. I’m choking with laughter at his utter disbelief that I, a woman, can actually clobber someone to death.

Hit Me Again


I will not let you
No I won’t
I will not
Let you hit me

You did it once before
And I let you.
I stood there
As you threw
The punches
I did not shed a tear
That maybe made you

I was too hurt to cry
You couldn’t see that.
And you hit me again
And again.
I promise not to let you
Hit me again

Last time, I watched your
You hit me like this like that
Now am ready
Knowing your moves
I’ll hit back

Yes I’ll put up a fight
I’ll do it so well
You’ll wonder if am woman or transgender.
I will punch your stomach
I will scratch your face
I will pull your ears
I will hurt you
I will not scream as I do it
I’ll hit you just like a man would
Yes I Will.

I will

I will not Let you
Hit me Again!


I don’t like
I used to
I used to like
But not anymore.
I don’t
I don’t like people.

Some people are
Most people are
Two faced.
All people are
Pretence itself.

I don’t like people
Men or women
Both I don’t like.
I used to
I used to like
Men and women
Children too
But not anymore.
I don’t like people.

Some people lie
Some others steal
All others watch and do
Do nothing.
I really don’t like.

I don’t like
To lie
I don’t like
to steal
I don’t like
To do nothing.
I really don’t like
To be like people.

Now they dont like
I am not like them.
I don’t like them.
I don’t like people.
I really don’t like
I don’t.

Short Story – Life Might not Give You a Second Chance

Life Might not Give You a Second Chance

It was their anniversary, and Aisha was waiting for her husband Rajiv to show up. Things had changed since their marriage,
the once cute couple couldn’t live without each other had turned bitter.

Fighting over every little things, both didn’t like the way things had changed.
Aisha was waiting to see if Rajiv remembered it was their anniversary!

Just as the door bell rang she ran to find her husband wet and smiling with a bunch of flowers in his hand.
The two started re-living the old days. Making up for fights, then was d plan for champagne,
light music And it was raining outside! It was perfect.

But the moment paused when the phone in the bedroom rang.

Aisha went to pick it up and it was a man. Hello ma’am I’m calling from the police station. Is this Mr Rajiv Mehra’s number?

Yes it is!

I’m sorry maam; but there was an accident and a man died. We got this number from his wallet;
we need you to come and identify his body.

Aisha’s heart sank.!!! She was shocked! But my husband is here with me?

Sorry maam, but the incident took place at 2 pm, when he was boarding the train.

Aisha was about to lose her conscience. How could this happen?!

She had heard about the soul of the person coming to meet a loved one before it leaves!

She ran into the other room. He was not there. It was true! had left her for good!!

Oh God she would have died for another chance to mend every little fight! She rolled on the floor in pain. She lost her chance! Forever!

Suddenly there was a noise from the bathroom, the door opened and Rajiv came out and said Darling, I forgot to tell you my wallet got stolen today.

Let’s start making amends.

No one has a promised tomorrow. Have a wonderful Life with no regrets!

Get more stories on Short Stories app https://goo.gl/ETzph8

I Married My Best Friend

I wasn’t sure what it was that irritated me more; that someone sitting next to me poked me every other time to ask what verse the preacher had quoted or that the preacher had such poor delivery of our lords message that I had to sieve it to get a piece of the bread. Every time the person poked me I responded without looking. Three pokes later and I got pissed. I signed an agreement with my head that if he poked me again I’d turn, look at him and give him a piece of me. Was it the devil himself trying to distract me from sieving Gods message?

The forth poke came and just as the treaty dictated I turned sharply and behold I was hit…, and what hit me, hit me well. My everything got excited and that sermon I was sieving sublimed. A man can be handsome and this one was the definition of that. I quickly composed myself and asked why he kept poking me all the time. He said he was sorry and that it’s the preacher who wasn’t audible. I responded asking him why thinks if he can’t hear, I can. Did I have sound enhancing ears or what? It sounded funny. And we both laughed. I too did not know it would come out that funny.

We became inseparable months later, we would sit together in church, sing in the choir- he was in the choir,I wasn’t but joined just because. Slowly the whole world knew we were together. We couldn’t hide it. What he loved I loved, wherever we were together we had fun. A pastor friend of ours then advised him one time as they were chatting that it would be smart to marry now that he was 27 and that he had the company and love of an amazing woman that was me. The pastor said “marry a friend because when love fades-like it always does, you’ll have a friend to talk to but if you go for a woman you are in love with you will end up broken and hurt and divorced because she was not your friend”

He visited me and told me about pastor’s wisdom and I liked it. I really liked him, so much that I couldn’t tell if I was in love with him or not. I just wanted to be with him. I didn’t care about anything else. Our wedding was out of this world, small, invites only. Somewhere on Mombasa’s little known Chale island. It felt exactly like heaven (Been there in dreamland).Then we went for honeymoon, then we took pictures, then we travelled the world for three weeks and I was sure this was he who God set aside for me.

Life was good, so good, we prayed every morning, we hugged,we held hands, we told each other how our days were, we kept no secrets,we lived like a serious couple ought to live. One November three years later, I noticed change. He avoided morning prayers and came late for dinner most of the time. He did not prepare for church and I promised myself I wasn’t going to ask him to. I hummed my favorite hymn and drove off to church. I would be lying to say I remember the day’s sermon. I wasn’t listening to the preacher. All that was in my mind was to figure out what it was this man was going through or what it was that he was hiding from me.

I tried to act nice, concerned even and asked him why he was changing. I was slapped with silence and whistling to a non-existent song. (he hardly listened to music, I wonder what song he was possibly whistling to) I would have turned red if I were white. Never in my life had I been so mad. When he left for work, I cried and stood in front of the mirror to check if I was Fat. Maybe it was I who was the problem, maybe I’d grown fat, maybe my dressing embarrassed him, maybe I didn’t cook as well as I used to. I promised to change.

I changed my wardrobe, tried to be less nagging and cooked his favorite meals in sequence but still he did not change. I wanted to leave him. I wanted to file a divorce but a friend advised that I take time. I took time. I had reached the point where I was going to act exactly like he was. I would come home late, not cook, not do his laundry, not go to church and I would whistle to a nonexistent song in case he tried talking to me. It was fun! You should have seen his face and heard him click his tongue every time I walked past him. So he too had a heart that could get disgusted.

It was on a Friday evening when I decided to go shopping for the house. We had a joint account and I knew we had quite an amount in there. I did not believe it when I learnt that the account had been swept clean. Thank God I was smart woman, I had two other accounts he did not know about and so I wasn’t going to die of hunger like he possibly was thinking. I shopped quite well and drove back home. I found him and his big head and ugly face glued to my T.V. I walked past him without a word. I made food enough for me and went to bed. I no longer wanted to be with this man.I couldn’t sleep, I kept wondering what he did with the money. I kept wondering if it would be ok to ask him about it or not. I however decided to act like I had not yet realized he had stolen from me.

I went swimming the next day and by the pool I met a woman sun bathing and reading my favorite novel. I couldn’t resist picking up a conversation about the book and in our chatting we became as close as old high school friends. She told me her story about how she came to learn to love herself and not a man. Somewhere in between her narration, I held my breath and fought hard to hide my shock at the possibility that she was my co-wife. She told me of this man who loved her and threw her a super wedding, only for him to steal from her three times the amount he had used. To confirm my worst fear she finished her story sighing in his name “wa! Peter Mwaura” I froze.


That evening I sat on the couch across the dining table and watched him chew his food lazily. Or maybe contemptuously I don’t know. This man I loved was now the one I hated with my whole soul and every time he swallowed, I hoped he’d choke to death. He was very handsome back then but now all I saw was a big head and unproportioned shoulders.

We met in church; the only place a girl of my kind would meet a man worth marrying and his ‘love’ for Christ is what made me want him more. I never imagined that this man was a con artist, this man was impotent, this man was not 27,this man was a thief and I was his fourth wife.(he was a serial husband) I wasn’t going to commit suicide. I wasn’t going to tell anyone about it, not my family, not the police, I was going to strangle him and take the secret to my grave..a pillow would work quite well and I doubt anyone will report a missing person.


You probably are wondering what Mokong’ is or what it means. I don’t know what it means but I’ll tell you about when I first came across the name. Mokong’ is a little known tea estate in Kenya’s Nandi hills. My mother and I moved to Mokong’ when I was three and her nineteen. She had been asked to leave home  after high school and take care of her business(me). A friend of  hers had told her that at Nandi hills she could easily get a job as a tea picker and so we moved.


I did not start school until when I was five years old. Our neighbors children began at three but I couldn’t because mother said she was saving up money for that and that it would only be enough when I get to five years. She always tagged me along when going to work. She never trusted the women who sold maize by the roadside to keep watch on me. So she took me along and when working she would put her lesso down and ask me to sit. There I learnt to play with my imaginary friends and sing myself to sleep.

She worked from 8:00am to 3:00pm and then we would go home. Most of the time she would not eat anything but she made sure I got a cup of porridge from some women who came selling a cup at 5 shillings daily at around 12:00pm. She only ate once a day and that was in the evenings. Whenever I asked why she only eats once she’d say she doesn’t want to grow fat. So I grew up knowing fat women were those who ate all the time and that being fat was not beautiful.

When I got to five years I asked about school. “ma’ you said I will start school when I am faif iyas”. She smiled and confirmed that indeed I would go to nursery school in January. The school I was to go to was Mokong academy. There,one did not have to do an interview and so mother knew I would go straight to nursery and not baby class then top class. She had taught me the alphabet and counting. That’s what we did before going to sleep everyday. We’d also read a verse from the bible. She had an old Gideon bible; a white one.

I could tell mother was so happy as she walked me to school that 6th of January. She told me of her first day at school and how she did not cry. I bet she was trying to prepare me psychologically for the part where she would have to go back to work and leave me behind. I understood and promised her that I too just like her would not cry. I kept that promise. I didn’t but she did; I  noticed tears in her eyes after she hugged me and waved goodbye.

Mokong academy sat on an eighth of an acre piece of land. All classes were three in total and they all were made of iron sheet and earthen floor. Those days that was a school to die for. The public schools there were made of mud and the pupils were so many in one classroom. At the academy we were nine in one classroom. We had chairs and colored pencils. I loved it. Our head teacher was an old retired primary school teacher who was also the owner of the school.

After a few weeks I learnt what routes to take in the tea plantations on my way from and to school. There were so many routes in the plantation and many kids would get lost, sit on the ground and cry till someone found them. I was smart, I never once forgot the way to my mothers workplace. After school I would join her then keep her company till 3pm when we’d go home together.

On my way from school I made friends with some children who went to the public school next to ours. They had no shoes and that was normal. Sometimes I would remove mine too just so we would be the same though secretly it was because they were made of plastic and when hit by the sun my tiny feet would literally ‘bake’ in them. Its a no wonder people called  the shoes  ‘utanijua saa nane’ which translates to “you’ll get to know me at 2pm when the sun fully shines”

My mother worked hard and when I was 11 in primary 6,she got promoted to work as a manager of the other tea pickers. She would now go to work at noon and take records of how much tea the workers had picked then report to the office. She managed to open a small eatery where the workers would come to eat sometimes on loan. From money she made I got better shoes and a new school uniform every year.

I was always top in class thanks to the early lessons I got daily before bed. I loved school. Teachers loved me. That’s how it is when you are  good academically . Years went by fast and I went to the prestigious Kapsabet girls’ high school; the Alliance of Nandi county. Mother was so proud. She wanted to call home and inform everyone but changed her mind remembering how she had been cut off. All  these  years there had never been contact with family. I was her only family and she mine. Forget my father, I’ll talk about the He-goat in another story .

School went on fine. My mothers hugs and smile and joke about her hands being as tough as her feet (picking tea had corroded her palms)are what I looked forward to more than her perfectly made chapattis every visiting day. She was my strength and reason for working hard; I wanted to pay her back in the biggest way. I did well and joined a public university to study veterinary science. On my graduation it was only she  who attended. It was fun. She was so happy she cried. We took pictures, ate cake, thanked God in prayer and cried again.

Having graduated top in my class, the university offered me a masters scholarship and gave me a few classes to teach the undergraduates. Life was  good. I managed years later to buy my mother a house in Eldoret. She moved from Mokong but insisted on running her eatery business. It’s all that kept her busy. So every fortnight she travels to Nandi hills to see how her business is doing.

Just ten minutes ago an old couple walked into my office and introduced themselves as my grandparents. They came in smiling and mentioning how I look exactly as I did at three. All the while I’ve worn half a smile. In my mind thinking ’30yrs!!?’ who throws you out at 3yrs and smiles in your face when you are 33? Insane. I could stab the both of them Recalling my life at Mokong’ built a painful lump in my throat and I excused myself and cried in the washroom. I have just called my mother about it and there is still silence on her end…

The Blue Posho-mill

The bell rang and like bees out of a hive students poured out of their classrooms. It was tea time and as usual one had to hurry not to be late getting back to class. Getting late meant getting serious punishment from Mr. Omuyonga who was always voluntarily on duty; a man highly feared by all students at Kivuu secondary school. Spag, his real name Tyson stood by a pillar outside his classroom and watched the other students rush for tea. He never went for tea, he just did not feel that hungry most of the time. He was nicknamed Spag because of his slender body and somewhat weak look like that of cooked spaghetti. He was however very smart in class and was always earning presents for being top in class.

He stood staring into nothingness and murmuring lines from topics in biology he had read.(He loved biology) and hoped to be a doctor someday. He was a child of a single mother, a tough mother who decided to painfully divorce a man she learnt had a wife she never knew about. She devoted her life to taking care of her son and making him grow into a better man than his father. She also made sure the father paid for the son’s expenses and that included school fee. It was because of the agreement to have Spags father pay school fee that it was decided that he goes to Kivuu high school. A school the father could afford.

Spag never met his father, his mother could not let the foolishness of his father rub onto him. She never allowed it and once when he asked who his father was and where he was, he was told he died in war. The look that accompanied that answer warned him never to ask that again and he never did. He was young then but smart enough to read his mother’s moods and eye speech. It bothered him sometimes and he would wear a sad face from wishing he knew who the man really was.

As he stood by his favorite pillar, Abu his dorm prefect came walking towards him. He smelt trouble and stated walking lazily towards the school canteen. Abu increased his pace to catch up with him. Abu was a prefect but a bully. He was always picking on Spag and it irritated his so much. Being a quiet and reserved boy he never once reported him to the deputy principal who was in charge of discipline in the school.

Aside from being top in class, Spag was also holding the county’s debater of the year award. Maybe it was for this reasons and more that Abu got jealous of him and used his ‘prefect hood’ to mistreat him. Spag was among a hundred other students who suffered the wrath of prefects and some teachers for being drama club members and for being Nairobians. He was however better off because he was smart. The rest who were average had to live with comments like “ kizungu mingi but you get nothing in class”. Seemingly it was ok at Kivuu to be a poor performer from the village than be a poor performer from Nairobi.

Abu caught up with Spag and asked rather rudely “hey! Why haven’t you gone for tea?” shaken Spag responded “I’m not that hungry.” “Not that hungry or you are trying to tell us you are too sophisticated to take our kind of tea?” “I haven’t said that” “so you are calling me a liar huh?!” Abu rambled as he pushed Spag to the side of the canteen. Some boys saw the pushing and ran to hold Abu back. The bell rang and everyone went to class in a rush. Abu shouted “this isn’t over!”


The next week the final examinations begun and Abu did not cross Spags path ever again. Everybody was busy reading and making final touches. Group works here, revision there, past papers there and so on. Everyone left school once they were done with their paper and so when Spag left, Abu did not know or even notice. Abu was an Agriculture student while Spag took Computer studies. The computer paper was done earlier than the agriculture one and that’s why Spag left school at an earlier date.


Life after high school was bliss for spag. He did well and joined medical school just like he had dreamt as a child. He enjoyed every bit of his studies for the six years there. He got posted to a government hospital not far from Nairobi and every weekend he managed to visit his now aging mother. His mother was happy that his son turned-out alright, there was nothing she treasured more than her son. They made memories eating out, doing road trips and playing board games late into the night. It was during these bonding moments that Spag got to be told who his father was. They even planned to visit him someday.

One morning a phone call from Spags paternal aunt revealed that the father had passed on the previous night. He had been ailing for a while but his death was not expected to be that soon. Spags mother was sad, sad because she secretly still loved him.(why she didn’t remarry) and because her poor son was now never going to meet him. She called to inform him and there was a long silence from the other end of the phone but when he finally spoke he said “It is well, at least I’ll get a chance to bury him.”

Mother and son drove from the city at 5:00am. Their plan was to get to the burial at 10:00am. There was no talking in the car only music. Rhumba. Spag liked driving to rhumba. His mother only gave him direction by pointing where to make a turn. It had been years but she still remembered the roads well. It was in this county by the blue posho mill that she met Thomas. He was to be the love of her life and the father to her son. A kilometer later and she saw the blue posho mill. She asked her son to stop. He stopped and she turned to look at the building, still painted blue 32yrs later. Memories of how she met him clouded her mind.

They got to the home and sat in a tent where the aunt who made a phone call directed them. Spag was a bit uncomfortable with the way most of the people who came to greet him and his mother quipped that he was an exact copy of his father. The ceremony begun and when the pastor was done speaking the introduction of family members started. Somewhere in the middle of the introduction Spag heard the name Abubakar Kalii. He turned, removed is sun glasses and confirmed that it was actually Abu the bully back in high school. It was him. His heart raced from the shock of this discovery.

After the whole family had been introduced, Spag’s mother was asked to stand and say something. She stood and introduced her son who only few people knew about. Dr. Tyson Kalii. Abu stood up when he heard that name to confirm that it was indeed Spag’s name he had heard. He could see that it was him though not skinny as he was back then. His heart raced, he was ashamed of how he used to treat Spag back in the days. He was very confused. How could he be his brother, just how? Had he not been in this confusion of thoughts maybe he would have heard it from Spag’s mom who narrated how she came to meet Spags father.

Abu walked out of the ceremony when it was over and took a stroll down the nearby river and cried like he never did before. He cried for his father ,he cried for his sins and for his brother whom he treated bad and who seemed to have been blessed more for he turned out to be a doctor and he just a struggling entrepreneur in the village; the owner of the blue posho-mill.




Five Steps To Losing A Guy.

I recently watched the 2003 Paramount Pictures movie ‘how to lose a guy in 10 days’ and was reminded of this article I drafted a few months ago but haven’t had time to share it here. Well, today I managed to steal sometime off work and put it down. Its February I just had to do something on love. I’ll be sharing my five steps to losing a guy. I know its not something men would want to hear but if you are a male reader just imagine how helpful this would be to a female friend or relative.

If you are anything beyond 25yrs then you will agree with me that there are times you’ve entered into a relationship with a person who truly isn’t your type and you knew it from the start but thought maybe you’d fall in love with them along the way then… it just didn’t happen and you suffered trying to politely break up. It’s hard to break up with someone who hasn’t wronged you, someone who has always been good, real and a great friend.


In ‘how to lose a man in 10 days’ Andie Anderson finally falls in love with the guy she was suppose to lose. Awww…sweet but disappointing because the objective was to lose the man not fall for him. But that was a movie; now allow me present you reality. Five  steps that actually work because yours truly has tried them and they work like magic. You need not to stick to a person you’re not in love with. It’s not worth it.

  1. Act dumb – Pretend you do not understand the simplest most common expressions. For instance when he types “lol” ask “what’s lol?”. This will make him think you are plain stupid and might not immediately fall out of love with you but will keep it at the back of his mind just where we want it. Remember to also make weird grammatical errors ;spell taught as ‘tout’ for instance. A smart man who takes pride in an intelligent woman will slowly start making plans on how to stop seeing you.
  2. Do not pick his calls– Dance to your ring tone when he calls. Text him a few days later and ‘apologize’ mentioning that you were in a meeting or in the shower or any other believable lie you can think of. Make the apology as short as possible. Too much literature will sell you out as so into the relationship.
  3. Be online but do not chat with him– He will obviously get the impression that you are chatting with other people (read  other men). Nothing puts off a man better than knowing he isn’t priority. Don’t mind whatsapp’s blue ticks you can always explain that you left your page open while you took a nap.(polite huh?!..lol)
  4. Do not let him pay–  Be it in a restaurant or paying for a cub don’t let him pay.If he has to, then split the cheque. This is meant to intimidate him. Women who can take care of their business are an intimidation to most normal men, so unless you are dating the abnormal ones; the lazy broke half schooled ones, just pay.
  5. Suggest going home as soon as 1 month- This should really do the trick if the other four don’t work. For most African men meeting a girl’s parents is a big deal and you mentioning it should make them shrink like a pierced  balloon. He will keep wondering why things are moving so fast. He will consult friends about it and the obvious advice will be “that’s fishy… you should lose her”. kaboom! Just what we want.

Its polite to let him call off the relationship by the way and it feels great too because you do not feel guilty for breaking his heart. He did it himself so you are as innocent as can be. So now after showcasing the five steps Hollywood style, all you need to do is lean back and watch the break up unfold. It might be over the phone; something like ” hey ….there is something I’ve been thinking about for a while..” or it might be over dinner. I like the former though, because you do not have to hide your smile and pretend you are disappointed, you just have to do a fake disappointed voice and then you can LOL when he finally hangs up.

Break up’s are painful people say. but there are some break up’s that are a breath of fresh air. These are the healthiest. You can choose to remain friends… Or not.

Busy Brother

Had I known,

That as we age

we’d grow apart,

I would have

Spent more time with you.


I would have followed you

To the park

where you played football

with the estate boys.

I would have cheered you with my

imaginary  cheering squad.

Image result for picture of a sister and a brother black


I would have run behind you

As you rode your self-made toy car

Those days when you were 8 and I 6.

Without getting tired and bored

I would have.


Had I known

we’d spend months

without talking

I would have brought up

conversations and debates,

We would talk, argue, laugh

And make memories…


But its too late now,

We are busy building the nation

And breaking our bond.

We’ve grown too wide


I hardly even know you

My Brother.


Had I known,

I would have

let you have my  lunch

As well.

For now I get no chance

to even share a meal with you.


Had I known

I would have followed you

To church youth meetings

And just sat there by your side

When you were 14 and I 12.











If you feel like leaving

If you think about leaving

If you imagine leaving

Then leave.

For life has no rehearsal.


If you feel my cooking

Isn’t the best


If you think I’m getting too old


If you imagine I dress awkward


For life has no rehearsal.


Leave before its late


Go find a younger one

Go find a better cook

Go find an elegant one.


BUT leave knowing one thing;

I’ll be here,


Waiting for you to come back…

I’ll be here,

Right here.


to break your nose,

Then leave