The sun gracefully set to the west
The beginning of the usual unrest
She sat as if she contemplated
Her predicament yet to start
The village punchbag she was
Her husband’s tool of “training”
Wars and fights always arose
In the small confined house in the edge
The drunken man got in
The blows began raining
One cursed, the other bellowed
One advanced, the other cowed
The predicament lasted all night
Lesser than it always did
She always got it that way
But never did she deserve
By Kibunja Wang'ombe
By Kibunja Wang'ombe
