Poetry

I stand just outside the Pick-a-Pay
and have got no money to buy
some bread and milk
and the smell of hot bread
hangs in the air.
 
It’s a humid, cloudy hot Sabbath day,
however the sun is scorching
while for a few Rand
and sometimes cents
I am looking after cars,
are minding them from being stolen
 
and suddenly a Higher Being decides
that I need a shower bath
and the clouds open
causing streams of water
to run down my clothes
while I flee to the shelter
of the roof
 
and I wonder who does control everything,
the weather, and the destiny of people
when suddenly it stops raining
and steam rises
as vapour from the tarred road
 
and a man presses a hundred Rand into my hand
and say: “take this friend”
and I am astonished
on the kindness of some people
and in the distance
a lightning bolt flashes down to below
and I shiver where I am standing in the sun
 
and I buy bread and milk,
already prepared chicken,
the newspaper
and ride like a prince
with my bicycle back
to the shack
where my wife and children
are waiting hungry.