At times Peter came to visit
before it was properly light
and we wandered off to go fishing
under the full moon,
at school he threw a brick
into a nearby bees nest
and during lunch break
the whole swarm stung me
and I ended up in hospital
but still as friends
for a time we were inseparable.
Peter had his own radio
on which he listened to a radio program called "squad cars"
and the police where heroes to us.
I do remember how the people
living in a rondavel and white bus fascinated me.
I was interested in Peter's brother Johnny's black motorbike
which made a dust cloud on the dirt track
and their old red DKW, which did run on petrol and oil,
with which I sometimes traveled along to Heidelberg
when his father did buy the Sunday Times
and a lucky packet for each of us.
We moved away to Natal
and after school I met Peter again
at a church camp meeting gathering
when he was a member
of the Special Forces Recce battalion
but that was the very last
that I had contact with him.
[Reference: Recce = Reconnaissance Commandos.]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem