None of them have value, without their master, thrill seeker,
Two houses, one we transited through and the other you considered as our “forever home”,
For the sake of that big, airy house, you wanted to shelve your nomadic roam,
One blue car,
Which your son termed “Baba’s big blue car”,
Unable to find the track “Poopie Monster” that you composed for me,
My mind is not at peace, but for now I’m letting it be,
Your son and I can’t wait to be mumma and baby star,
Just to knock out your nose and fart on your face, you stubborn, pig-headed imaginary czar,
I hope you haven’t started bullying all the souls in waiting,
Showing off your newly acquired soul skills, further aggravating,
The problems of that wretched man or woman, they call “God”,
On second thought, you do you, he/she might just decide to send you down back to me, so that we can continue to plod,
And figure out this conundrum,
Called life, with our little son, who claims he has a lemony bum,
Now doesn’t that sound like a plan poopie,
Coming back to Riaan and me, your “original forever groupies”.
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