Year Three

What does one do with a man who fits the floor with wearied socks and jeans.
What does one do with a man whose mouth will never tune to mushrooms or fennel.
What does one do with a man who constantly points out, in a maddeningly accurate fashion, that I procrastinate.
What does one do with a man who nags and nags and nags me to write The Book.
What does one do with a man who tsks tsks at my cussing?
What does one do with a man who forgets to put the milk away?

What does one do?

except to

Thank God

for everyday

with a man

who fits the floor with wearied socks and jeans,
whose mouth will never tune to mushrooms or fennel,
who constantly points out, in a maddeningly accurate fashion, that I procrastinate,
who nags and nags and nags me to write The Book,
who tsks tsks at my cussing,
who forgets to put the milk away.

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saaleha

I am a writer and photographer (look up my work on www.shootcake.com) based in Johannesburg, South Africa. I have an MA in Creative Writing from the university currently known as Rhodes. My writing accolades include winning the 2014 Writivism Short Story Prize and the 2020 Ingrid Jonker Poetry Prize for my debut collection, Zikr. View all posts by saaleha

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