Morning After the Wedding

Mama said I must get married now 
That there is a groom for every girl 
Now lying on this wedding bed 
Beside this puny creature and his balding head 
With the early morning sun rays, the guests long gone 
(A-Listers, Pantheon of local belles) 
Left with a room filled with useless gifts 
Cheap blenders/throw pillows/all epitome of thrift 

Bills! Bills! Bills! and more bills 
A million naira, a wedding reception hall full of glitz 
Spent, wasted, gone, a sunken cost! 
Our coffers empty, our pockets lined with dust 

Now the singing and dancing is long done 
The in-laws and out-laws have since be gone 
Our coffers dry, our lawn full of trash 
All I am left with is this emptiness of a man 

Mama said I must get married now 
That there is a bride for every man 
“Maybe you are not looking hard enough,” Aunty Tarry said 
“You must be haunted by an ancestral spirit, a husband from the dead” 

“When will you marry?” my mama said 
“Tuesday or Wednesday, or when I’m dead?” 
A complex maze of Brownian human hormones 
A thousand years of societal notions 

Mama said I must get married now 
That my mates are long past their childbearing prime 
For her counsel I have this being that I now call my own? 
And what in hell did I see in him at all? 
(“You are getting old!” my mama shrieked.) 
That is why, I guess 
I have ended up in this mess 
(But how come those outside are dying to get in 
To be trapped in steel bars, society’s psyche?) 

Mama said I must get married now 
That my mates are long past their childbearing prime 
But his touch is clammy, the feel of dead fish 
So sex, romance is clearly not my wish 
This marriage is a prison and off to jail I go 
So a strong front, fabricated lies to keep my woe my own 

“How did I manage to get here?” I ask 
Lying by this snoring snorting man 
Will he pummel me every day? 
Or will he cheat on me and still make me pay? 
Will I cheat on him in this new life of deceit? 
What does my darling Mama say to this? 
(You will grow to love him, she pleads 
You can change and mould him, Aunty Tarry cedes) 

Should I get myself a toy-boy for my needs? 
Or a prosthetic man tool, a vibrating drill 
For the real marriage begins the morning after the wedding 
After the guests are long gone and the bank account is in red 
Help! For I truly cannot stand this man by my side 
Now, what will my all-knowing Mama say to that? 




Jekwu Ozoemene
From my collection of Poems ‘Shadows of Existence: An Anthology of Poetry’. Published in 2009.