My Business is to Poke My Nose Around

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I make it my business

To know your business.

If you paint your house yellow,

Somehow I am entitled

To ask why your colours are loud

To silence our homes in some colour competition

When the aroma of fried beef

Wafts to the nostrils of my famished children

I wonder whatever happened to good neighbourliness

I hear your husband did not sire

That third son of yours:

His nose is as bulby as the Caretaker’s

Of course, I know these things

Heard them from the Househelp

I also know whether you slept on the right

Or left side of the bed

And exactly why you swallowed your

Sleeping pills yesternight

See, I should know these things

I don’t understand why you should be angry

When I ask you a simple question like

Who actually first proposed marriage to who

Because these things occupy my mind

And logically I should seek their answers

When I ask you where you bought that kitenge dress

And how many shillings it cost you

I expect a figure—fifteen thousand perhaps?—Not

Some whimpering of “mind your own business”

Of course you can tell it is my business

And do not give me that withering look

When I ask you whether there is a thing between

You and the gym instructor—

Some of these things I notice need intuition

They are not everyday wares sold in Muthurwa.

C) Lorot Salem 2011