That Easter Weekend On The Way Home Poem by Gert Strydom

That Easter weekend on the way home
I find a multitude of cars
of people on holiday
on the way to the sea

and just at Van Reenen’s pass
there are two cars passing
over the white line
past zigzagging turns

at high speed
and they drive so fast that it seems
as if I am busy standing still

and moments later
there’s a loud crash
and again another crash
when one drive right into a oncoming truck,

the other burst right through the railing
next to the highway
over the cliff face
falling down a ravine

as if they had chosen
to keep a appointment
with the angel of death,
as if the protecting angels
could not keep up

and out of the lorry
Easter bunnies and hot crossed buns
are strewn all over the road,
just where you look.