The City Has A Deadly Wound Poem by Gert Strydom

The city has a deadly wound
and on the street without a place to go,
sits an old man and his old wife
and their small white dog.

I see a blonde girl watching cars,
to buy a piece of bread
and her face tells that she has problems
and I wonder how she washes
the dirt of the road from herself?

a Red haired guy sleeps in boxes on the sidewalk
and at a traffic light there’s children that sniffs glue.
At another traffic light
there’s a couple with a baby,
that stands in the hot sun
and is dependant on motorists for their fate.

Just before a traffic circle there’s a man
with short pants,
where day after day
he sells koeksisters.

a Man with dark glasses and a hat
strokes his guitar
chord after chord and sings sad songs
and I see that his hat is empty
where he is in a small alley
while minibus taxis hoot the whole time.

Taxes are getting higher
and everybody has to bare the brunt of it,
but the poor are on the street with their pain
and wait for the misery to pass
like flowers trying to blossom in a desert
and they are surprised and scarred by life
and wait in vain for a place in the sun.

[Koeksisters= a Baked delicacy with syrup in it.]