The Old Man Poem by Gert Strydom

From the shack covered hills
of the shanty town
a dazed old man struggles down
with cold chills and hot thrills
going through his body.

Flags of sheets and washing
flap in the strong wind
and in pain he grinds his teeth
while he struggles on to a meeting
past grunting dogs, past logs on hot fires

and he hears the shik-shik chanting of an old witch,
called a sangoma by some, throwing bones, while carrying
his heavy load and he reaches home, where his wife and kids
are waiting on the sack of flour that he carries.