Johnny Mamba Poem by Gert Strydom

More than five years back
that white Johnny Mamba came to visit me,
that NI-spy
as a so-called friend of Francois
who wanted him to buy his innocence
(to let a docket disappear)
but luckily I did convinced Francois
to keep away from that unrighteousness
and he was found innocent
as in this country innocent people are at times charged

or was that blighter from the Bureau of State Security
or whatever they do now call themselves
(his name under which he does hide I will not mention here)
to find out who is telling me what to write in my poems,
first with a neat brand-new eight cylinder Ford car
but later with a jalopy that was falling apart

and then he wanted my mother to prepare for him
kidney and liver stew as a breakfast
(not something, which I do really like)
but she does make it very well
and every time when we were praying for the food
or are having vespers
then mister Mamba did disappear
and he was busy talking on his cellular phone

and when I told him that my poems do come to me by themselves,
that I am sure that the Lord God does give me the insight
and the words
that mister
who was talking all of the many official languages
did not want to believe me

and after his investigation and his unlawful visit
for which I did not invite him
eventually was finished
he did shake his head and say:
"man, you are actually a very nice and good person
but just be a little less strict
as at times you are very severe"

and he left with a hand full of my spanners
that he is still borrowing until eternity
as it at times do go in this country
with his broken car that ran with a huge noise
and lots of smoke
when he did leave.

It made me well aware that the government do not like
some of the poems that I do write
and especially those that I had written
with the murder of Eugene Terreblancé:

that every white man just like him is extradited
and in a way does stand in his shoes.

[Poet's note:NI is National Intelligence.]

© Gert Strydom