Night Of The Xenophobes Poem by Frank Meintjies

they are out tonight
white paint conceals their oh so normal faces
the wild chanting
hides well their normalness and neighbourness
they run
break down doors
they hurtle & their shadows follow
spastically
this rabid style
in sharp contrast
with their
churchliness
but now that Sunday best’s forgotten
as the flames flicker
across & across their
all too urgent faces

surrounded,
a shack breaks
besieged by kinetc forms
it sags
& then
the crumpling building materials
are set alight

looking behind
someone is being beaten
(it’s not you, thank heaven, as you practice your accent)
in front of you
a store’s door
yanked off its hinges
by a neighbour’s son (mild boy
now delirious
with excitement)
off left, some uncles,
are grabbing armfuls of bread, mealie meal, sugar

they’re out there
outright wildness
in the smoke-streaked air
what’s yours is theirs
the mood is vile

tonight they trample on …
burn all rules
punch, slap, knock
the face of neighbourliness

tonight an ungainly truth
lies with
vividly blank eyes
in the gutter