Home from school and the sweltering heat of day

Greeted mom and she parroted, ‘Good afternoon, darling’

The last word slapped my face

Mom was no romantic

And a few steps into the house,

dad sat stolid, and stolidly greeted me.

An afternoon to remember

A bitterleaf soup with semovita, and Nico Mbarga belting Sweet Mother from ancient speakers

Something was amiss. Darling? And mom was no romantic.

Straight-laced Anglican woman with no frills about knocking a child back into shape.

Darling?

Siesta done, father called me by that name which portended danger.

Name in full, meaning, your cup is full.

The drawer opened and my sinwas handed to me in a white sheet of paper

Love letter to a girl, the object of my infantile desire, signed and sealed with the damning word, ‘Darling’!

The ground did not swallow me.

I faced my fate with fear and trembling, alone and then came the verdict;

“We shall see!” words worse than a hundred strokes of the cane.