Cul De Sac Poem by Gert Strydom

At the parking
of the Ok-bazaar / Shoprite in Springs
a one-way street runs out
straight into a traffic light
that cuts a T
into two directions.

This morning the traffic light
is blocked
by a crowd of rioters
that comes from the right side,
from where I want to go.

The police block the road
to the left with a car
and some policemen walk along
with the uprising.

There’s a foreman, instigator
or head man
walking in front
and he hops up and down
and shouts something to me
and he comes straight in my direction
and it looks as if the devil is in him
with a crowd
of revolting barbarians following him.

Nobody is going to drill me
with bags of rubbish
and tree branches
or throw pieces of glass
in front of my tyres
and the light is red
and the rioters are half mad
and my motorbike has a lot of power
and its boss cannot wait.

The policeman says stop
but can hardly
look out for himself
and what about me?

I drive past
going straight for the leader
and give a lot of gas,
my motorbike
can cut fine corners,
although it’s past the back
of a police car.