THE STAINED TROUSERS


(An act of attrition to the unknown young woman whose trousers I recently smashed unwittingly as I boarded a Musango Bus for Buea from Yaounde)

Please, pardon me
Pardon me for smashing your trousers
I didn`t mean to
The vehicle was so crammed
And I had to raise and juggle my feet to reach my seat.

I understand
Like the girl who sang, “Oh, baby! Oh Baby!”
A song I cherish for its melody and its lyrics
Your trousers are stained on the right leg
Fortunately not the left leg
I offered to wash and iron them for you
But you said, `No! `
You wanted money to wash them yourself
But what is wanton money compared to precious human contact?
Okay, here`s my card
Call me on Monday, but not before
If you can`t get through
Then by all means, text me
So we can iron things out.

Oh, by the way
Take this!
It`s for you, just for you
It`s one of my books
`Sighs and Whispers from Within`
A collection of poems
Take it, read it, keep, own it, love it, kiss it
It will soothe you
Before we iron out our differences
Let it be a symbol of my sincerity
My apology
My remorse
My repentance
My compunction
For smashing your trousers.

It`s a bond
An attachment

A truce
A ceasefire
An armistice
A treaty
A connection
A relationship
A union.

It`s a seal to this new-found relationship
It`s the beginning of things to come.

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