A tribute to my sister.

To My sister, sweet Marisa.

There was this cute thirty – something spinster,
Who turns out to be, believe it or not, my sweet little sister.
When she got married, she didn’t want me to make a speech,
But I thought I got to say my peace.
She, born a dozen years later than me,
Would for me do nothing without charging a fee.
What she never considered was the fact that I, her Ouboet,
Had to clean her backside and wash her shit – doek.
Many’s a night or day I rocked her to sleep,
When she cried endlessly, with pain so deep,
Or took her for a ride on my bike,
And for sore eyes she was a sight,
With a diaper on her behind!
And a ‘kappie’ on her head,
While the rest of her body was bear.

Marisa, remember how you used to threaten to spill the beans,
When we, your brothers, refused to fit in with your deals.
How you would not leave me be, when my girlfriend was there,
I can still hear you threaten - “ek gaan vir pa sê!”
A sweetie or two we would offer you then,
Just so you would go play in your den.
Only to return once again when the sweetie was finished,
And you needed it to be replenished.

Now at long last you’re getting married, but I have to inform you,
Remember, a husband you can choose and surely a friend,
But with your brothers and your past, damn, sorry to say, with them you are stuck till the bitter end!!

Your Ouboet.