Poetry

In a building there are people singing “Gloria in excelsior”
and it’s beautiful like a choir of angels
but I do receive a track that insists on my salvation
and the traffic light does change.
 
Around me people past in a bunch
and on the other side an old white man holds out his hand
with a “good afternoon to you, sir” he greets me
and just there tries to block my way.
 
A flower vendor tries to push a bunch of deep red roses in to my hand
and says “buy them for the madam”
while the wind is jerking on his thin shirt
“mister, she will really like the roses.”
 
Right at the home affairs building
a camera is lifted to focus on me,
a hand with a pen is held out
and I slip and almost do lose my balance
 
and right there I wonder about the things that are happening in this town,
I want to escape into the veldt,
do see everybody standing with a stretched out hand
or maybe I want to return back to my Pretoria.