The first time you were caught was age thirteen
mother walked in on you and daddy in your bedroom
his legs spread across your sleeping beauty mattress
naked as the day he tumbled into the world
feet first and quiet
like a criminal fleeing a building

Your hands were fondling daddy’s happiest place
he called it special service
called you his special girl
you often repeated that word after his visits
your lips would curve upwards like a cheshire cat
and his liquid would spill from the sides

Mother’s eyes spun so sporadically
you wondered if they would roll down her throat
and sink into her stomach as she dragged you away
daddy always did say mother would never understand
that’s why she yelled at you for behaving improperly
always on your father’s legs
always in spaghetti

You are now on the busy streets of Lagos
your cinched waist curved at the driver’s window of a shiny car
passersby shake their heads
her parents labored over her but look at her now
what a shame
you tell the fat-bellied CEO
whose wedding band combs your weave
he must double his fees to get special services.

By Wasilah Morenikeji Oyekan