If I were her hubby, I’d be lovely,
Make her my queen, her looks sixteen and clean;
I’d gild her crown, take her to town with glee,
Sing and cling to her, as seen on my screen.
If I were her hubby, I’d make her laugh,
Won’t act out of spite, despite her glitches;
Above all, love her in full, not in half,
And celebrate her birth where she chooses;
I won’t push her aside, or leave her side,
Fail to provide for her and our children,
Or torment her to dent her well-prized pride,
Even if she’s stiff, sick, thick, and barren.
In fact, in life, we will be the happiest
Until I lie still in furrows of dust.
Copyright © 2016 by P. A. Owala
All rights reserved.