to her dumbo

my kaffir is gross, childish, juvenile, adolescent...
but she calls you her husband anyway..
i say you are dumb,
she says you simplistic, logical and querky,
i say what big ears,
smiles fondly, as though reminiscing...
she says....

ears to hold you close..
ears to use as an umbrella in the rain...

shade in the sun..
tent when you are camping...
para-glide, parachute...

i guess my kaffir has got game.. the force is strong in that one...
i know that when my kaffir goes..
i will miss him.. miss his childish maturity, free spirit, one track mindedness, miss his deliquent tendences,
his entitledness, his map-kid attitude, his obsession with nonesense.. his love for his shine.. that blinds even himself... his drunk smoking clubbing nights, his non-sexual sexscapades, his self-centred reasoning..

dedicated to dj trixi, dj big-grey-car, dj i-do-just-house, dj big-lip...