No! Slay mama or slay queen
Is your new sobriquet, I hear.
Your obstinacy knows no twin!
Since I last wrote
Ululating your womanhood,
I have taken note
Of your romance with negritude.
This time, give ears to my sooth
And accord it some heed
Though it does you no soothe
And you think it no yield.
Out your sun creeps to the West
Your morality drains through the pores
And lo with it melts your zest
As is known, yea, of many whores.
The day you turned twenty-two
Thousand men were in your legs slain
If you ever turn eighty-two
How many more shall your mamma maim?
What shall your slay princess wear?
Sexy thongs and slaying tatters?
How shall your slay daughters hear
They’re seedlings of many fathers?
Sitting, I seethe.
Boiling, I brood.
In impatience, I writhe
Hoping you spin for good.
If you do not get this letter,
Please do notify me
That I may yet write another.
Yours in antagony!