It’s not fair!

Though you can slip in narrow places from danger
And your fall, when tripped, is always cushioned
It’s not fair still! The shame, I cannot bear
And yes! Mr. Psychiatrist, I do mind

You say I can get away from trouble
When during the night I am hustled by a constable
By claiming that I am a school boy
No! No! I do not want from a concerned lady a toy

I want to be like my smaller brother
Who his motto sky is the limit
And up he shoots day and day taller
Didn’t I hold him in the yester years
While he was a petit?

I mean, don’t you have a machine
For lengthening
It cannot be a genetic defect, I can
Swear to that
What! I am a midget! It must be
A word of your making!
No one and I don’t want to be the first in
My family if the meaning is that!

© GIDRAF MWANGI