by Boniface Badubi
He picks the phone,
I pretend not to notice.
Though my heart tightens in despair,
I know, I know he will never be mine.
God knows I don't want him to leave his wife and six kids,
Still I want him to be mine.
He promised she would be up in the sky for London,
None of it is enough consolation.
A year of undivided attention,
Only if it was genuine affection not loneliness.
His perfume drenched white shirt,
The only remainder of our love.
Still he smiles with a heart so white
Does he hold my heart close?
How can I even ask of this?
He holds his wife and kids close.
Somewhere deep in my heart
I know the naked truth
I am just an option
Just an option, never will be a priority.
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Boniface Badubi is a Motswana writer.